Silence
by Fuwakateema
Summary: The senior staff must deal with the fallout when an incident in someone's past comes to light.
1. Default Chapter

Title: Silence

Title: Silence

Author: Fuwakateema, irishbooty79@aol.com

Disclaimer: What's the saying? Wish in one hand and shi—oh never mind. It goes without saying really that this is an amateur work of fiction, and no copyright infringement is intended.

Notes: Whew…this is going to be a doozy. I will be touching on some extremely sensitive subjects in this story, specifically, abortion. As this is an issue I know most folks feel very strongly about, I am attempting to present both sides without leaning one way or the other. 

I've done a little research on the 'net and am going to include the pertinent links. The Feminists for Life page is [http://www.feministsforlife.org/][1], and the Emily's List page is [][2]http://www.emilyslist.org/. Also, for more information on the Freedom of Access to Clinic Entrances Act, check out http://www.msu.edu/user/schwenkl/abtrbng/s636.htm

Category: CJ/T friendship, CJ/J friendship…eventually romance perhaps. :)

Rating: Right now about PG-13.

Feedback: Rocks!

Spoilers: None specifically, but everything is fair game.

Thanks: Lizisita and Sidalicious. Thank you gals for your friendship and inspiration. 

++++++

She was a quiet woman, my mother. Quiet in her devotion, quiet in her happiness, and quiet in her anger. She could make you feel small and mean without even uttering one word. It was her weapon, and she knew how to use it. Maybe that's why I can't bear silence, because somewhere in my mind I equate the absence of sound with my mother. And it's terrifying.

To say our relationship was complicated would be an understatement. The woman hated me. She hated my easy laugh, and the way I could walk into a room like I owned it, even though I wasn't the prettiest woman there. She hated the way I defended myself with self-deprecating jokes in an argument, and she hated the ready-forgiveness I offered to my older brothers when they'd hurt my feelings.

I don't know when it all started. This complicated relationship with my mother. Had it always been there, or only when it became apparent that I wouldn't be the striking beauty she'd always imagined any daughter of her's would be? I remember the conversation I'd over-heard more than twenty-five years ago. My Aunt Katherine had been visiting from Birmingham, and the two women sat on the porch, sharing Parliament cigarettes.

I'd been standing in the kitchen, searching the refrigerator for something cool to drink when I heard my name. Claudia Jean. I knew it was my mother because she was the only one who ever addressed me that way. To everyone else I was Claudia, or CJ, or Ceej. _I think I'm going to Hell Katherine because I don't love my daughter. I know it's not Claudia Jean's fault that she's ugly, but I can't bring myself to forgive her for that._

Ugly. My own mother called me ugly. Not unattractive, not plain, or any of the other nicer ways of saying it. And that's when I realized that nothing I did would ever please her because I wasn't pretty. And it hurt. It hurt more than any physical pain I've ever endured.

But I dealt with it, and I learned to forgive her even as she refused me. And later, when she grew ill I tried to offer an olive branch. Not out of any sense of great guilt for the way our relationship had deteriorated to the point where we couldn't even have a civil phone conversation, but because I knew she wouldn't be around much longer. She pretty much snapped that twig in two and told me to go back to San Francisco because she didn't need me. Stephanie, Tom's wife and former Miss Georgia, was there to take care of her.

So I left, and didn't come back for two years. Until it was time to bury her. My brothers and Father were inconsolable, and I hated her because I felt guilty for not being able to shed any tears at the funeral. They understood of course, and left me alone after the reading of the will. She'd left my grandmother's ring, the one I'd admired since I was five, to a distant cousin. And she'd left me nothing. Nothing, except bitterness.

It's amazing how people can continue to hurt you, even after they're dead and buried. I don't know why I'm thinking of all this now. Maybe it's because the woman sitting two pews in front of me has the exact same hair color as my mother. Maybe it's because the lemon-scented furniture polish filling my senses now, reminds me of Mass as a child. Or maybe it's the silence as the congregation reflects on the Homily. She was a quiet woman, my mother.

+++++++++

"Claudia Jean, Good Morning! You look exceptionally ravishing today."

I look up from the news report I've been scanning for the better part of an hour and can't help but grin as I meet Josh's twinkling eyes. He's leaning carelessly against the doorjamb, and so very obviously up to something. Josh is not a morning person. Particularly on Mondays. This doesn't bode well for me, but I decide to play along anyway as I push the report aside.

"Joshua Ann! I would say you look devastatingly handsome this fine Monday morning, but then, well, I'd be lying."

Josh brings his hand to his heart and feigns pain. "You wound me, CJ. Here I am, greeting you cheerfully and paying you compliments…wait, you called me Joshua Ann again. Why do you keep doing that?"

"Because I think it's cute." I reply simply as I turn back to the news report. 

"Ah…much like the man himself, wouldn't you say?" When I don't respond, Josh continues. "So, how was your weekend?"

"It was fine."

"Aren't you going to ask me how mine was?"

"No."

"Ok."

"Josh, just tell me what you want, or what you did that I'm going to have to fix."

"What makes you think I want something?" He asks as he steps into my office and sits down nonchalantly on the couch.

I snort in a decidedly un-ladylike fashion, but don't raise my eyes. "What, are you kidding me?"

"OK, there is this thing."

I push the paper aside and glance at Josh. "Oh, this ought to be good."

"Well, there's this group of people coming in today that I'm supposed to meet with."

"You mean that you are _going_ to meet with."

"No, uh, I said it right the first time."

"Ok, so there's a group of people coming in today that you're scared of and…?" I prompt.

"Let me state for the record that I am not scared of these people. I just don't like dealing with nut cases on Mondays. Well the ones who don't work at the White House, anyway."

"Well, why did you agree to meet them in the first place?"

"I didn't agree. Leo set it up. In fact, I think he did it out of spite." Josh replies as he stands to pace in front of my desk.

"What'd you do now?" I ask in amusement. Josh just never learns.

"I made fun of the whole Karen Cahill thing."

"What Karen Cahill thing?"

"Leo made some comment about—" Josh trails off and shrugs his shoulders. "Oh never mind about that. I've got bigger problems. Now where was I?"

"Um…Leo and spite."

"Yeah, well, I didn't even know I had to deal with these…people until I stroll into my office first thing this morning. You'd think he would've given me a heads up, right? No, no, no. Not Leo McGarry, royal pain in the—"

"Hey, that's our boss you're about to belittle. A man who has been extremely understanding about the numerous screw-ups you've managed to headline in the past two years." I interrupt.

Josh pales and leans forward conspiratorially. "Oh God…is he standing behind me right now?"

I smile and shake my head. "No, I just wanted to see what you'd do if—"

"Speaking of pains in the ass, you're one too, you know that?"

"I don't think that is any kind of way to talk to someone who you're about to ask a favor from." I sniff indignantly.

Josh closes his eyes briefly and ducks his head. "OK, look, if you meet with these people—"

"You keep calling them 'these people' Josh, who in the hell are they and what do they want?"

"I'm glad you asked." He says brightly. "You ever heard of 'Feminists for Life'?"

"Get out of my office as fast as your legs can carry you, Joshua." 

"Oh come on, CJ. It won't be that bad. You'll spend fifteen minutes over coffee listening to them whine about the Freedom of Access to Clinic Entrances Act and send them on their way with a nice White House mug. It'll be over before you know it."

"Once again, you astound me with your stupidity." I say angrily. "You think that they're going to see this meeting with me, the frigging Press Secretary, as a suitable substitute for the Deputy Chief of Staff? They're going to feel patronized and—"

"Who cares if they feel patronized?"

I sigh audibly and pinch the bridge of my nose. "Joshua, these women don't like me."

He cracks a smile, and I see he's about to make a joke at my expense. He thinks better of it though, and simply shrugs again. "They don't like me either. You'll do fine."

"You don't see the potential for disaster in this?"

"Quite frankly, no."

"Josh!"

"What's the problem?" A new voice inquires from the doorway.

"Go away Toby." I say irritably as I cross my arms over my chest.

"I'm talking to her about the thing." Josh explains.

"Wait, you're in on this too?" I ask incredulous.

"Josh and I discussed it this morning. Do it, ok?"

"No, it's not ok. I want to know why Josh can't do it."

"Because Josh would alienate them and we need their support." Toby says as he ignores the indignant glance Josh tosses him.

"So why don't you do it then?"

Toby lifts one corner of his mouth and shrugs. Damn what is it about these men and shrugging? I'm starting to get seriously annoyed. "Because I would too."

"So let me get this straight. Because the two of you…jackasses can't control yourselves, I have to take fifteen minutes out of my extremely busy day to pat some women on the head, all the while trying to conduct myself without appearing to know, that they know, that the only reason I'm there is because I've been brow-beaten by my boss."

"In a nutshell." Josh agrees.

"Did it occur to either of you that I might alienate them?" 

"Nah…you'll go in there and charm them. Be funny, be gracious—"

"I don't need tips from you Mr. Lyman." I cut him off. "I really don't want to do this." I say quietly, hoping they can't detect the note of desperation in my voice.

"Why not?" Toby asks.

He's staring at me now in that piercing way of his, like he's trying to divine the secrets of my soul. Well, he's not going to discover anything I don't want him to know. I've become very good at protecting myself and hiding things. Especially since…well, never mind. 

"I never thought I'd see the day CJ Cregg was afraid of a bunch of women." Josh pipes in.

"I hate you both. Now get out of my office." 

"CJ…"

"NOW!" I yell, almost smiling in satisfaction as Josh jumps.

Toby and Josh exchange glances, but they both know better than to argue with me when I use that particular tone of voice. They know that I'll meet with those…women, despite my objections, and this is enough for them. Josh follows Toby out of my office and closes the door gently behind him. I pick up the brass nameplate from my desk and throw it against the wall, feeling some of the anger drain from my body at the loud thud. I'll worry about the gaping whole underneath the window later. Damn, this is the second time I've broken the White House.

++++++++++++++++++++

"Do you think she's mad?"

Toby gives me one of his well patented 'are you serious' looks and arches his eyebrow. "Yes Josh. I think it is safe to assume that CJ is not in the best of moods right now." He answers sarcastically as he begins to jot something down in his ever-present notebook.

"What are you writing?" I ask curiously as he starts to walk away.

"My will."

"Hey, make sure you spell my name right." I call after him. He doesn't acknowledge me, much like my assistant who chooses this moment to walk past me with a stack of folders balanced precariously in her arms. I could help her but…well, she didn't even say 'good morning' to me.

I turn around and regard CJ's closed door for a few moments. Yeah, she's pissed. But it's not my fault…it's Leo's. Of course, she's not going to see it that way. In fact, she's going to look at it like Toby and I were pulling rank. Which, in hindsight, I guess we did.

"Oh Donnatella?" I call as I walk into the bullpen, where my faithful assistant is busy scribbling something down on a yellow-sticky note.

"Good morning to you too, Josh. How are you? I'm fine, thanks so much for asking."

"You know Donna, this sarcastic thing you've got going?"

"Yeah?" She asks without looking up.

"It's not an attractive feature on you. Work on it, will you?"

"Bite me, Josh."

There's a joke in there, but I decide to leave it alone, because I've got other, more pressing matters to concern myself with. "Hey, you wouldn't happen to know what CJ's favorite flowers are, would you?"

"CJ doesn't like flowers." 

"What do you mean she doesn't like flowers?"

"She doesn't like flowers, Josh. She thinks flowers are for funerals."

"But all women like flowers…"

"Oh for Pete's sake. The woman doesn't like them, get over it."

"Wow." I pause for a moment and then shake my head. "Well, now I'm out of ideas. Um, what do you think I should get her?"

"Well, I guess my answer will depend on what you did to piss her off this time." Donna replies, finally looking up from her notes and meeting my gaze.

"I just…hey, what do you mean 'this time'?"

Donna just rolls her eyes at me and places her hands on her hips. "On second thought, you don't deserve my help."

"Whatever. Hey, everyone likes chocolate. Maybe I'll get her some really expensive—"

"That's a really good idea Josh."

"It is?" I ask hopefully. If Donna says it's ok, then I trust her.

"Yeah, it's a great idea if you want a box of chocolates shoved up your—"

"Thank you very much Donna. I always appreciate our time together." I interrupt before she can get any further. She's snickering openly and it's, quite frankly, very annoying. I turn on my heel and start walking towards my office. Maybe I can find something on the Internet…

"Hey Josh?"

"Sup?"

"My favorite flowers are tulips."

"Who asked you?"

And now I'm snickering because although I don't turn around, I know she has that crest-fallen look on her face. Put that in your pipe and smoke it, Donna Moss.

+++++++++++++++++++

"CJ?"

"Yeah?"

"They're waiting for you in the Roosevelt Room." Carol reminds me as she sticks her head around the corner. Her gaze is drawn to the hole in the wall, and she tries to hide her smile.

I stand up and smooth out the imaginary wrinkles in my skirt. "Remind me why I haven't quit yet?"

"Because this place would fall apart without you." 

"Oh, yes. Good reason." I stride down the hallway with Carol at my heels, tugging at the sleeves of my suit jacket, feeling like a lamb being sent into the Lion's Den. "Carol, if I'm not out of there in fifteen minutes, you come in and interrupt me. I mean it, fifteen minutes.""

"Interrupt you, how?"

I stop in my tracks and face my assistant. "I don't know…just be vague and say that there's something that needs my immediate attention. They can't argue with that, can they?" Carol tosses me a dubious look, and I scrunch my lip to the side. "Ok, they can argue with that, but I'm not going to wait around long enough for them to do it."

I stop before the door and take a deep breath. I'm going to kill Josh. I really am. And then, I'm going in search of his big, bald friend, who by the way has been on my shit list for quite a while now. I open the door and walk in with a confidence I don't really feel.

"Good morning ladies. Welcome to the White House." 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

OK, flowers are out of the question. And according to Donna, so is chocolate. What the hell? I guess it really shouldn't surprise me that Claudia Jean would be complicated, but, damn, it doesn't make my life any easier. I mean, should I really apologize to her anyway? I'm higher on the ladder than she is, and I delegated. Is there anything wrong with that? No.

Then why do I feel like shit? Maybe it's because she had this haunted look in her eyes, and I ignored it. I'm her friend, but I just brushed it aside because I needed—wanted—her to take this meeting. In the back of my mind, I know that she'll forgive me in a day or two, because she always does.

She'll make a joke or two about her poor, sainted, put-upon self, and we'll laugh, and then she'll punch me in the arm, or pinch me, and I'll know that I'm forgiven. We have this routine, she and I. I've grown accustomed to it, taken it for granted. Maybe that's why I'm at this stupid web page, looking through an assortment of stuffed-animals and mushy cards, trying to find something adequate enough to express my apologies.

"Josh?"

"Sam! Sam, my man, I need your help." I look up and meet the eyes of my other best friend.

"Ok." He answers simply as he comes into my office and perches on the edge of my desk.

"When you think of CJ, what comes to mind?"

"What did you do now?"

"What makes you think I did anything?"

"Because when I went to CJ's office to talk to her, there was a big hole in the wall."

"There was a hole in the wall?" I ask in amazement. "Damn, I think I'm in trouble."

"Big trouble." Sam agrees.

"Ok, so what should I get her…you know, to get back into her good graces?"

"Your head on a platter, perhaps?" Sam suggests, smiling in amusement.

"Are you gonna help me or not?"

Sam cocks his head to the side as if he is seriously considering it, and I throw a pencil at him. He throws his hands up. "All right, calm down. Let's think about this logically."

"Yes."

"CJ doesn't like flowers, so those are definitely out of the question."

"How did you know?" I ask, not willing to believe that Sam knew this about Claudia Jean, when I didn't.

"That CJ doesn't like flowers?"

"Yeah."

"Oh come on, Josh. Everyone knows that."

I didn't, but I don't tell him so. "OK, so what else do we got?"

"She doesn't strike me as the stuffed-animal type…and don't even think about getting her something as trivial as candy."

"I happen to think that a nice box of chocolates is a very thoughtful gift." I say defensively.

Sam clears his throat and smiles. "If you say so."

"No flowers, candy or cute teddy-bears. What's left?"

"How about a piece of jewelry? Maybe a pair of earrings, or a bracelet."

"No way."

"Why not?"

"Because jewelry is something you give a girlfriend, or a wife, or a mother. And CJ is none of the above."

"Yet." Sam mutters, but I pretend I don't hear him because he's going in a direction that I'm not sure I can handle.

"Anything else, oh friend-of-friends?"

"Sorry…I don't have much experience in this department."

I sigh in frustration and lean back in my chair. It's only ten in the morning, and already I feel like I've been there for eight hours. Maybe I should just forget this gift thing all together. It's not like she'll be expecting it…which of course is why I want to do it. Damn.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

I think I know how all those people felt during the Spanish Inquisition. I mean, I'm not about to be burned at the stake for heresy, but, well, you know what I mean. I'm sitting across the table from three very professional-looking women and all I can think of is the Spanish Inquisition. This isn't going very well.

"Ms. Cregg, we were told that we would be meeting with Josh Lyman."

"I'm sorry, Ms--?"

The young woman looks at her companions and they exchange a commiserating glance. Great. I guess it would be nice if Josh had given me the names of the women I was meeting, but then again, I didn't ask. I should have prepared, but I was too busy trying to get my emotions under control. So now I look like a fool…which isn't a new sensation, believe me, but I've also managed to insult these people. Good going Claudia.

"Clark. Jenna Clark, and these are my associates, Anna Moreno and Tammy Nguyen."

I clear my throat and absently play with the cuff of my jacket. "I apologize Ms. Clark, but Josh Lyman was called away to an important meeting at the last minute. I was asked to come here instead."

Jenna observes me silently for a moment, and I can only imagine what's going through her mind. "Look Ms. Cregg, we're here to discuss a very sensitive matter…and quite frankly, we'd rather not do it with you."

I look to her companions who are busy studying their hands and I'm suddenly aware of the dread settling in my belly. I'm speechless for a moment, and worried because they won't meet my eyes. "If this is about the work I did with Emily's List, then let me assure you that my own personal views don't—"

"That isn't the reason."

"OK, then…I don't understand."

"The reason we don't want to discuss this sensitive issue with you is because…well, we're here _about_ you."

"About me?"

Jenna sighs, and nervously draws circles on the table with her fingernail. "Please Ms. Cregg. We'd rather talk to—"

"Well, I'm all you've got Ms. Clark, so whatever it is, you're going to have to tell me…to my face."

There is a steel edge to my voice, and the women in the room recognize it. They glance at each other again, and seem to come to a consensus, because Jenna meets my unwavering gaze and begins.

"The Feminists for Life was established in 1972. The organization is dedicated to education about and prevention of abortion, capital punishment and euthanasia." After I nod my head, she continues. "Recently, there's been a split…some members thought our methods were too…docile. More specifically, they think we should be more vocal in our condemnation of abortion."

"I understand…but what does this have to do with me?"

Jenna clears her throat and pushes a large manila envelope I hadn't even realized she possessed across the table until I grasp it with my fingers. "We respect President Bartlet…he's always been a champion of women's rights, and has a better track record than any of his predecessors in supporting legislation for equality."

I'm barely listening to her as I begin to pull out what appears to be a stack of glossy photographs. I realize that my hands are shaking and I pray that they don't notice. OhGodOhGodOhGodOhGodOhGodOhGodOhGod.

I can't swallow. I can't breathe. And I can't tear my gaze away from the picture in front of me. I still have nightmares of this day. About once a month, I wake up soaked in my own sweat, shaking and sobbing into my pillow. I've never told anyone. Not even my Priest in confession. No one. And now these women who hate me know. And by this time tomorrow, the Public is going to know as well. And all I want to do is curl up and die, because I don't have the strength to fight this…I'm not sure I'd want to, even if I could.

"We want to make something clear to you Ms. Cregg…we aren't responsible for this. We just wanted to give you a heads up…give you some time to prepare."

I only vaguely hear her apology…I think it's an apology anyway. I can feel their sympathy even though I don't look up because I'm trying to concentrate on regulating my breathing. Panic wells up in my chest and it takes all I have not to run from the room, hell from the West Wing itself. I can't break down in front of these women…I won't.

"Where…how…why?" Is all I can manage to get out, although in my head it sounded far more intelligent.

"As I explained earlier, there is a more radical faction of our organization. We don't know how they obtained the photographs, but we do know that they are probably being delivered to The Washington Post as we speak."

The Washington Post? Oh God, Danny. How am I ever going to be able to face him again? How am I ever going to be able to face anyone again? I nod my head, and the panic in my chest is slowly being replaced by numbness. There's nothing I can do. My world is falling apart, and I have absolutely no control.

"They want me to resign?" I ask in a low voice, although I already know the answer.

"That is their goal, yes."

I don't say anything. I know I'm making the women uncomfortable, but at this point, I really don't give a damn. I start to sift through the pictures, feeling my heart constrict with each one. This is bad…this is very bad. I need to leave. I need to get up and just walk out of the room because I don't know what's worse; the fact that these women were the ones to warn me, or the fact that their eyes are filled with pity as they watch me now. In the end however, I just sit there because I don't trust my legs to support me.

"I am sorry Ms. Cregg. We don't encourage this type of personal attack, and we'll say as much if asked. I um, I think we'll show ourselves out."

I don't acknowledge Jenna Clark, or the others as they get to their feet and exit the room. 

I don't acknowledge Carol as she reminds me that I have a press briefing in thirty minutes from the doorway.

I don't acknowledge the bustle in the hallway, or the flickering light overhead that is on the verge of dying out all together. 

I can't think about anything except the fact that by this time tomorrow, I will be destroyed.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++

In hindsight, I guess I should have seen this coming. She's a strong woman, but I think we all tend to forget that she's still human. That she still has her breaking points. She's the one we run to when our problems are threatening to overwhelm us. We go to her because we know she'll fix them. That's what she does. But as I stand in the doorway of her office, I wonder whom she goes to when she has problems. And I hate myself for not knowing the answer. 

I can't forget the look on Carol's face when she ran into my office moments earlier. Frightened. Distraught. Confused. None of these adjectives seem appropriate right now, but I don't know how else to describe it. She only managed to utter two words before I was out of my chair, and down the hallway. CJ's leaving.

I know this for a fact now because I am silently observing her filling a small cardboard box with her belongings. Her movements are slow and resigned. She looks tired. Defeated. I don't know what happened in that room, but whatever it was, it has turned this strong, vibrant woman into a walking zombie. She doesn't even know I'm there.

"CJ?"

She jumps at the sound of my voice, and seems reluctant to meet my eyes. But she finally does, and what I see there nearly breaks my heart. "Toby…not right now. I need you to get me an audience with Leo and The President."

"Why?"

"Do you want what's best for this administration?"

I pause because she has caught me off-guard with her question. "Of course I do."

"Then please do as I ask and get me ten minutes alone with Leo and the President."

"Can I tell them what it is in regards to?" 

CJ closes her eyes briefly and ducks her head. When she finally looks up again, her face is devoid of emotion and I don't think I've ever been more scared of anything in my life. "Just tell them it's important, ok?"

I nod my head and leave, because I don't know what else to do. This friendship I have with CJ has always been a bit…well, convoluted. I'm torn between demanding answers and pulling her into my arms for comfort. In the end I do neither because I'm scared of the consequences. When did this happen? This trepidation when it comes to all things CJ? I can't answer that question and this scares me too.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++

Above all else, I remember the pain. Not the physical pain. That was the easy part. No, what I can't seem to get over is the unremitting ache in my heart as I sat in the waiting room, clutching the armrest until my knuckles were white. I kept telling myself that it wasn't too late, that I could walk out of the doors just as easily as I had entered.

"CJ?"

I realize now that I'm not in the clinic waiting room. I'm just outside the Oval Office, waiting to meet with The President and his Chief of Staff. But the ache is still there. The ache in fact, has never left. I've just become good at ignoring it.

I don't say anything as I get up from my seat and pick up the damning evidence, following Leo into the office. This may be the hardest thing I've ever had to do, and I can't reconcile myself to the fact that I'm about to disappoint two men who I've tried very hard to prove myself to.

"Good Morning, Sir." I greet politely as I come to stand before Bartlet's desk. He looks at me over his glasses, and I can see the concern in his gaze.

"Mornin' CJ. Toby told us you had something important to discuss?"

"Yes sir. I have just concluded a meeting with three representatives from Feminists For Life."

"What? I assigned that meeting to Josh." Leo grumbles from beside me.

"Yes, well he delegated to me…and quite frankly, I'm glad that he did. You see…" I trail off because I don't think I can go through with this. 

Both men wait patiently while I try to gather my thoughts. And then I decide that the easiest way to do this is to let them see for themselves. I pull out the stack of photographs and place them on the President's desk. "I um, I think you should take a look at these."

Leo glances at me curiously before he walks behind the President's desk to stand over his shoulder. I dip my head and close my eyes because I can already feel the tears welling, and I'll be damned if I'm going to start sobbing like a little girl in the Oval Office. And that's exactly what I feel like, a little girl. 

I can't help but being reminded of the time I was six, maybe seven, and I stood in my father's study, awaiting punishment. My brothers and I had been digging around in the attic because it was summer, and it was raining, and we were bored. We discovered some old photos of my mother and father when they first married, a box full of baby clothes, and some old sporting equipment. 

My brothers were satisfied with the leather mitts and baseball they found, but I wanted more. So I continued to dig through the chests and boxes, carefully avoiding the spiders nesting there, until I came upon it. I was mesmerized by the fake jewels, and how it shined even though it was covered in dust.

My brothers laughed as I placed the tiara on my head and started prancing around the attic, waving as I'd seen all the beauty queens do in the parades. It was heavy on my head, but I felt beautiful with it. Beautiful and invincible. I should have been more careful, should've put it back in the chest with the glamorous dresses my mother used to wear in the pageants, but I didn't. 

No, instead, I continued my 'victory walk' and tripped over one of the boxes. The tiara flew off my head, and shattered into three pieces as it hit the floor. I couldn't move because all I could think of is how angry my mother was going to be. My brothers didn't move either. And then my mother was in the attic, beckoned by the crash. And the look in her eyes was enough to make me want to find a hole to crawl into.

"Claudia Jean, go downstairs and wait for me in the study."

I must have waited alone in that room for an hour, anxiously anticipating my punishment. When she finally did come in, she sat in the leather armchair behind the imposing desk and observed me silently. I stood before her and nervously picked at the fringes of my cut-off shorts, praying that she would say something, anything.

She continued to regard me coolly and my legs were getting tired because I'd been standing for an hour, but I knew better than to sit down. She'd take that as a personal affront since I hadn't been instructed to do so and I was already in enough trouble. I don't remember how much longer I stood there waiting for her to speak, but in my youthful mind, it seemed like eons.

When she finally did address me, her words were lined with ice and I winced.

"You had no right to wear that crown Claudia Jean. You didn't earn it."

"I'm sorry."

"What do you think your punishment should be?"

"I don't know."

I never looked at her through the entire exchange because she had a way of penetrating my defenses, of making me cry. And I knew she despised me because of it. Viewed it as weakness. She finally stood up and extended her hand. I looked up from the intent study of my well-worn sneakers and gasped.

"You will wear this for the rest of the week. And I mean at all times. You may take it off when you go to bed."

I shook my head in horror. The once-beautiful tiara, held together now by three strips of duct tape, had been clutched tightly in her hands. She'd placed it roughly on my head and I remember hissing in pain as the combs dug into my scalp. She could be extremely cruel, my mother. My father wasn't there to save me this time because he was traveling on business. I knew instinctively that he never would have allowed it.

He never would have forced me out of the house, amidst the taunts of the neighborhood children. He never would have made me carry that hideous thing on my head when I complained of neck pain. He never would have been so angry over something as trivial as a broken tiara that hadn't been removed from the chest in over ten years.

"CJ?"

Oh Dear God. 

"Yes sir?"

I still can't look up because I don't want to see the disgust on their faces. I couldn't bear it…not right now. But I can hear the confusion and disbelief in the President's tone, and that's almost enough to send me into hysterics. 

"When?"

"Five years ago."

The silence in the room is suffocating. I'd rather they interrogate me, ask embarrassing questions, demand an explanation. Anything but this unforgiving silence. I'm not thinking rationally right now so I don't take into consideration that this is an extremely awkward situation for them. Instead, I take it as condemnation. And my heart breaks all over again.

"Sir, I want to apologize for the PR nightmare this is going to cause. I didn't think…I didn't think anyone knew about this." He doesn't say anything, and so I continue. "I think you should consider Simon Glazer as Press secretary. All my deputies are good, but Simon's more at ease with the Press than the rest. He'll handle this for you."

"We already have a Press Secretary." Leo speaks for the first time.

"As of," I glance at my watch, "Eleven-fifteen you don't."

"Look CJ—"

"No. This is my decision. The best thing for this administration is—"

"The best thing for this administration is for you to remain here as the Press Secretary. We lived through my alcoholism, and Sam's…friend. And damn it, CJ we'll get through this too. Personal attacks on the staff aren't uncommon."

I smile humorlessly and shake my head. "I'm not staying Leo."

Out of the corner of my eye I see Leo turn to the President, willing him to speak, to try and change my mind. But he doesn't, and this is how I know I've made the right decision. "I um, I'd like to tell the guys personally if you don't mind."

"For the love of God CJ!" Leo explodes. He moves towards me, but I back away. He stops short and leans on the President's desk. "You don't have to do this…we understand, and we support you."

"Please Leo."

"Why are you doing this?" He asks softly.

I finally meet his eyes and feel the anger at the injustice of it all run through my veins. "I'm doing this because in a few hours, the entire free world is going to know about a very personal and private moment in my life. And I don't know how I'm going to face my family and friends, let alone a room full of reporters. I'm doing this because I'd rather resign than put you in a position where you have to fire me. I'm doing this because no matter what you say, you can't understand." My voice has steadily risen in pitch and my chest is heaving with indignation. I take a deep breath and turn to the President.

"May I be excused, Sir?"

His face is unreadable and his hands are clasped together on top of the pictures. He clears his throat and dips his head. "Yes."

He says it so softly that I have to strain to hear him. His face may be unreadable, but his body language comes through loud and clear. Disappointment. Confusion. Frustration. Anger. Take your pick, because it's there…and I'm responsible. I swallow hard and nod.

"Thank you, Sir."

+++++++++++++++++

TBC

   [1]: http://www.feministsforlife.org/
   [2]: http://www.emilyslist.org/



	2. Chapter II

PART 2

PART 2

He's a great man, my father. He celebrated his seventieth birthday this past March and his mind is still as sharp as it was when he was thirty-five, and the hero in my world. Actually, he's still the hero in my world. It's funny, but I'm forty years old, and I'm a daddy's girl.

My father is the one who greeted me with a kiss each morning as I came down for breakfast. He's the one who placed band-aides on my knees and elbows when I fell off my bike. He's the one who comforted me with milk and Oreo's when I came home from the Spring dance in tears because I'd stood against the wall the entire night. He's the one who told me I was beautiful and made me believe it, too.

I remember the tears in his eyes the day I told him I'd been accepted into Berkeley. He wasn't crying because he was happy, he was crying because he thought Berkeley was too far from home. The man thought a thirty-minute drive north was too far. And I loved him for it.

I talk to my father once a week, sometimes twice when things get to be too much at the office. I don't visit him as often as I'd like, but he understands, or says he does anyway. And he never fails to tell me how proud he is of me. How he wishes my mother, God rest her soul, were still alive so she could see me. How much he loves me.

And I start crying now in the darkened church because after tomorrow, I don't think he'll ever be able to say those words to me again. My father is a devout Catholic. He wakes up every morning at four so that he can make it to five-thirty daily mass. He serves as a Eucharistic minister on Sundays and is active in the parish fund-raisers. And for the life of me, I don't know how he's going to be able to face his fellow congregates come Sunday morning.

I'm sitting in an empty church on a Monday afternoon because it reminds me of my father. The flickering devotional candles, the lingering smell of incense and the hardwood pew comfort me, as they always have. I bow my head and send a silent prayer to God, Jesus, Mary and all the Saints. I pray for strength. I pray for wisdom. And I pray for forgiveness.

I'm so sorry, Daddy.

It's funny how your life can change in an instant. Not ha-ha funny, more like weird funny. Ironic funny. Or maybe it's not funny at all. I don't know anymore.

I'm standing in CJ's office, my eyes roving in quick succession over the box on her desk, the hole in the wall, and Simon Glazer on the TV screen doing the afternoon briefing. Was it only a minute ago that Donna barged into my office with this new development? CJ leaving? I laughed, I actually laughed, because no matter how many times she pretends to quit, I know that Claudia Jean could never walk away from what she does. It isn't in her.

I was wrong. God was I wrong. I'm aware that someone is behind me, but I don't turn around because I know it isn't her. She has this presence, this overwhelming, beautiful presence, and…whoa, where in the hell did that just come from? 

"Where's CJ?"

Well now, there's a voice I haven't heard in a long time. Come to think of it, I haven't seen him in a while either. I remember how it used to be…when I couldn't walk past CJ's office without seeing him in the doorway, trying to charm her. Things changed between them a few months ago though. She misses him, even if she won't admit it. Or maybe it's just the attention she misses.

Someone, I think it may have been Donna, told me he's been seeing a woman from the State Department for a few months now. I don't know if it's serious or not, but I do know that Mister Daniel Concannon, reporter extraordinaire, has blown any chance he may have had with CJ. And I'm not even going to think about why this makes me happy.

I turn around now because there's this urgency in his tone that I've never heard before. He looks a little more fit than the last time I saw him, and I realize that he's taken more care in his appearance. Yep, this thing with that State Department woman is definitely serious. 

"I don't know." I answer honestly.

He sighs and looks down at his feet for a moment. There's an agitated air about him, and for one moment I think maybe he knows. He knows that CJ's leaving…and then I think maybe he knows why.

"Well do me a favor, will ya? When she gets in—"

"What do you know?" I interrupt.

"Pardon me?" 

"What do you know?" I repeat more slowly, as if I were talking to a third grader and not the Senior White House Correspondent. 

"Well, I know a lot of things, Josh. You want to specify?"

I take a step towards him and I lower my voice. "Look Danny, don't play games with me. If you know anything about—" 

"What in the hell's going on in here?"

I visibly cringe as Toby storms into the office, slamming his shoulder into Danny in the process. Here we go. These two men don't like each other, and have never tried to conceal the fact. And I'm not exactly suited to the role of peacemaker…where in the hell is CJ when you need her? Well, I guess if we knew that, we wouldn't all be congregated in front of her desk right now.

"Nothing's going on…we're just waiting for CJ." I answer quietly.

"You aren't supposed to be back here Danny…shouldn't you be in the briefing room right now?" Toby asks irritably.

"I'm working on another story…and I need to talk to CJ about it, all right?"

"Well, you see she's not here. Come back later."

"Toby…"

"I said come back later, Concannon." 

The tension in the room is palpable, and now I am absolutely convinced that Danny knows something. This 'new story', well, it's got him quite worked up. He's an easy-going guy, takes things in stride and all that jazz, but right now, he's standing toe-to-toe with Toby Ziegler of all people, and he's not backing down. I guess I should try to do something to diffuse the situation, but I refuse to get in the middle of this one.

"Well, if I would've known you all were throwing a party in my office, I would have brought some refreshments."

"CJ!" We all exclaim at the same time. She comes breezing into the room, and sets her purse down on the desk. Her expression is neutral, but there's something in her eyes, something dangerous.

"You and you," She begins pointing to Toby and I, "Meet me in the Mural room in fifteen minutes, and bring Spanky."

"But CJ," I begin, only to be quelled by her look.

"Fifteen minutes Josh. Now get out, and shut the door behind you. Danny and I have some things to discuss."

Toby lingers for only a moment before following me out of the room. I expect there to be a look of triumph on Danny's face because, well he's a guy, and guys have been known to gloat in times of victory. However, he merely nods to me as I walk past, and I swear I see an apology written across his features. Oh God Claudia Jean. What have you done?

She has this habit of wringing her hands when she's nervous. Her beautiful hands… she's got these long tapered fingers and although her nails are short, they're well manicured. And her skin…I'm a writer and I can't begin to think of any adequate adjectives to describe the softness of her hands.

I once asked her what kind of lotion she used, but she'd laughed off the question and shut the door in my face. I don't know why I'm thinking of her hands now. Maybe it's because for once, she's hiding them under her desk, and her face is too impassive for me to read. If I could just see her hands…

"Let's cut right to the chase, shall we? I know the pictures were delivered to your paper…and I know that given your seniority, you're the reporter in charge of the story."

"Yes."

"I'm not giving any interviews. I'm not talking about this to you, or anyone else." She says quietly.

"Well, to be quite honest I don't know if I'm going to be working at the Post after today, so you don't have to worry about me looking for an interview." I answer angrily because I'm offended that she thinks the only reason I'm here is to get a story. She's my friend…I want to protect her.

"What are you talking about, Danny?" She asks me in this weary voice that I've only heard one other time…after the shooting.

"I don't work for a tabloid, CJ. I'm not going to be a party to this…this…"

"It's the truth Danny. You're not printing anything unfounded."

"CJ—"

"Look Danny. Don't do me any favors, all right? You love your job, and you're great at it. Don't throw that away because you think it's going to change anything. They're going to print this story with or without you, and then everyone else is going to pick it up the day after. It's inevitable."

"I don't think you understand the consequences, CJ." 

"You don't…you don't think I understand the consequences? Who do you think you're talking to? I know what's going to happen to me…to my name…to my reputation. Believe me."

"Then why are you asking me to help them destroy you?" 

CJ gazes at me for a moment and I see the affection in her eyes. "Because I'm selfish…my motives aren't entirely altruistic Danny. People are going to step forward after this, you know? And they're going to make up stories about me, and everyone will believe them. But you know me Danny…you're my friend."

"So you want me to stay on to defend you?"

"No. I want you to stay on because you won't print lies."

I sigh because I don't know what else to say. She's staring intently into my eyes, and I see the plea in them. CJ's a proud woman, has always been able to hold her own amongst these men without asking for help, but now she needs it, and she's coming to me. And I don't want to fail her. But in the end I will, because there's no way I can protect her from this.

"Danny, if you're not comfortable—"

"CJ, I would go to the ends of the Earth for you…you know that."

She seems startled by the vulnerability in my voice, and she ducks her head. It doesn't matter that I've been seeing another woman for two months now, that I keep a toothbrush and shaving kit at her apartment, that her robe and hairbrush are at mine. No, none of that matters because I'm still in love with CJ Cregg, and suspect I always will be.

"Danny." Her voice is choked with tears and I feel guilty for putting them there.

I stand up now because I know she doesn't want me to see her like this, doesn't want me to think her weak, even though I never could. "CJ, if you ever want to talk…if you ever need anything…call me, please."

I know she won't, even as she nods her head. I can only hope that Toby, Josh, and Sam will be able to penetrate her defenses, will be strong enough to fight for her even when she tells them to go to hell. I close the door behind me and avoid Carol's eyes as I walk down the hallway. I feel tired already, and the battle hasn't even begun.

I used to be young once, and idealistic. CJ tells me I'm still idealistic…that I try to hide it behind acidic criticism and gruff responses, but that she can see through all that because she's known me so long. And she's right. I can't begin to tell you how much I hate that. Not that she's right, but that she can see beyond this well-crafted exterior I've developed over the years to protect myself. 

I wasn't always like this, guarded and jaded. But decades of working in politics will do that to a person. Make him erect walls so that others can't see just how much he is affected by losses and victories; how much he wants to believe in the basic goodness of humankind; and how he cries when someone he trusts has disappointed him.

Sam is staring off into space, looking lost in the big armchair in the corner, Josh is pacing the length of the room, running his hands nervously through his hair so that it stands on end, and I'm resting my forehead on two fingers as I lean on the arm of the small couch when CJ finally enters the room. We've been waiting for ten minutes now, but it seems like so much more time has passed.

Josh has stopped in mid-stride, and seems unsure of what to do next. CJ smiles at him reassuringly as she walks past, and places her hand briefly on his arm. She sits next to me on the couch, close enough so that our shoulders touch, and I can see she's been crying. I'm thinking of possible ways to kill a certain red-haired reporter, when she begins to speak.

"Thank you all for coming. I was going to talk to each of you privately, but I don't think I could handle it, so I'm going to tell you all together."

"What's going on, CJ?" Josh asks as he leans against the wall.

She removes her glasses, and pinches the bridge of her nose. She seems reluctant to start, so I take one of her hands in my own, and squeeze it gently. CJ seems surprised at this simple display of affection, but it isn't long before she's gripping my hand as if her life depended on it. "I don't want you guys to think that I was keeping this a secret because I didn't trust you…you've been like a family to me, and well…I just wanted you to know that. I honestly didn't think this would ever become an issue."

"What is it?" I ask quietly, because she has fallen silent again.

She closes her eyes briefly and leans her head on the back of the couch. "God I don't even know how to begin." CJ sighs and a few more seconds pass before she pulls herself into an upright position. "Five years ago while working for Emily's List, I met a man…and I fell in love with him. I won't go into specifics because they aren't important, but well, after five months, I found out that he was married, and had three children."

I swear under my breath because as she looks up, there is a tremendous amount of pain and heartache in her large eyes, and I'd like to break the neck of the man who put it there. Josh has moved from his place on the wall, until he's standing beside her, and places his hand on her shoulder. She looks at him gratefully and takes a deep breath before continuing.

"Needless to say, I wasn't going to continue seeing him…not when he was still married and had no intention of leaving his situation. It suited him politically, and he wasn't willing to sacrifice that for me…and I wasn't willing to sacrifice my self-respect for him, and so we parted ways."

I try to search my memory for any clues as to who the man might be. CJ and I used to call each other every week, but during that period, it had dwindled down to once every few months because I was trying to save my marriage to Andi. I of course kept abreast of CJ through mutual friends, but no one ever mentioned a significant other, and I wonder if she ever told anyone. If he was married, he probably fed her a line about wanting to keep CJ all to himself, so that their romance could remain a secret. If I ever find out who the scum was, so help me God…

"And then…about three weeks later I went to the doctor because I thought I had the flu." She laughs now in that self-deprecating way she has, and I want her to stop because it sounds bitter. "I was so stupid…it wasn't the flu, I was pregnant."

Sam shifts a bit disconcertedly in his seat, and Josh has grown considerably pale. I don't know what I look like, but if it's close to the way I feel…God save us. CJ was pregnant and she never told me. I feel completely and utterly betrayed.

We used to tell each other everything…I mean there was nothing that we didn't share. She knew about the fertility drugs Andi was taking to get pregnant, knew about the miscarriages, and knew about our finally just giving up because it was too heart-breaking. But never once did she tell me she was pregnant. I guess she didn't trust me as much as I trusted her, and oh, how that hurts.

I'm afraid to meet her eyes because of what she might see there, so I study our joined hands while she continues. "I…I didn't know what to do. I mean, Mr. Wrong was out of the picture…had never really been a part of it. I was living out of hotels and buses; I didn't even have my own apartment…all of my things were in storage. I didn't have room for a baby in my life."

"Did you…did you give it up for adoption, CJ?" Sam asks as he leans forward on his knees. 

A tear falls on my hand, but I don't know if it's mine, or CJ's, and I don't care enough to find out. I'm aware that her voice is shaking now, and the shoulder next to mine is trembling, but I can't bring myself to look at her, to speak a single word of comfort, to squeeze her hand reassuringly. Nothing.

"I couldn't bear the thought of someone else raising my child. I mean, what if they weren't good parents, what if they couldn't love him or her as much as they should? I couldn't do it. And so I found the name of a doctor and—"

She's sobbing now, and I pull my hand away from hers in disgust. She knew…she knew how hard Andi and I were trying to have children, knew how much we longed to be parents. She knew this and still…I get up from the couch because I'm not sure I can handle sitting next to her right now, not even sure I can look at her.

I walk over to the wall and lean my forehead against the brilliant colors, trying to block the sound of her tears. There's a hand on my shoulder and I can identify the grip as Sam's. He's speaking to me quietly, but I can't make out what he's saying because there's this pounding in my ears, and for one minute, I think I'm going to faint. 

I don't know how much time passes before I gain control of myself, but when I finally have the strength to turn around, CJ's cries have subsided, and she's looking at her hands, folded now in her lap. Sam is still beside me, but I notice that Josh has moved across the room and is gazing intently at his shoes.

When CJ speaks again, her voice is clear, and there's a coldness lacing her words. "I thought I should tell you all because tomorrow morning, The Washington Post is going to be running a story, along with some photographs of me entering and leaving the clinic. That's the reason the representatives from Feminists For Life were here today…they wanted to warn us."

No one says anything for a few moments and CJ sighs audibly in what can only be described as sorrow. "Simon Glazer is going to be taking over the duties of Press Secretary, so you all should meet with him sometime today to go over what he's going to say."

She stands up and moves towards the door, but before her hand touches the knob, she turns back and meets my gaze. "I'm sorry." 

I can't offer her the forgiveness she's so desperately seeking because I don't have it in me. She nods her head almost imperceptibly in understanding and walks out the door. I'm a hypocrite. I've always believed in a woman's right to choose, I've gone to rallies and protests, hell, I've even spent a night in jail for the cause. I don't know why I'm so angry and hurt. I only know that I am, and the fact that I can't explain the origin of these emotions angers me even more.

I've never been a drinker. I mean, I'll have a beer or a grasshopper, which is a perfectly respectable drink by the way, every once in a while, but I've never used alcohol to escape from my problems. That's the coward's way, and call me what you will, but Claudia Jean is not a coward.

At least I didn't used to be. Now though, I'm absently fingering the label on the bottle of tequila Carol had waiting in my office when I returned from my father's birthday a few months ago, imagining how comforting the golden liquid would be burning its way down my throat. And the numbness and lightness that would follow…I really need that right now.

He wonders why I never told him. He feels betrayed, deceived, letdown. Three words that all mean the same thing…do they really? I don't know anymore. He doesn't understand…doesn't know that I was sparing him. Has he forgotten how often he used to call me, his voice slurred with scotch and exhaustion? I had to cradle the phone, when I really wanted to cradle him, as he sobbed about Andi's infertility, his feelings of inadequacy as a husband, and the fear that one day she'd leave him because they'd run out of things to talk about.

I'm not that cruel. 

And anyway, we'd stopped talking by then. He'd told me it was because he was busy with one campaign or another, but I know the real reason. Andi had never been entirely comfortable with our relationship…not quite lovers, but so much more than friends. Toby loved Andrea Wyatt, still does, and so he chose her over me. I don't blame him. God, I'm a crummy liar. I do blame him. It's been six years and I'm still bitter. I've never told him that either. Add that to the list of 'Things Claudia Jean Has Failed to Disclose to Toby'. It's getting to be quite long actually.

He thinks I owe him…thinks every secret I have belongs to him. What an egotist. I don't know why he would even expect it after all these years. We've both changed too much. He's closed himself off since the divorce and sometimes I feel like he's a completely different person. And I…well, I'm not a doormat anymore. But every now and then, when he smiles or brushes against my shoulder as we walk down the hallway, I see a bit of the old Toby. And who am I kidding? I still have doormat tendencies. Especially where my colleagues are concerned.

Which brings me to Sam and Josh. I guess in the back of my mind I had been expecting Toby's anger, but never the silent condemnation of the men I've grown so close to over the past few years. I've still got quite a bit of learning left to do I suppose.

Sam just had this look of disbelief on his face, like he didn't think it possible. I guess I'm glad that Toby broke down in that room because it gave his deputy something to focus on. Poor Spanky couldn't even look at me. He's been going through a lot lately…his father's affair, Toby's drop-in, my…problem. He's never worshipped me as he has these two men, but I'm fairly certain this hurts just the same. I idly wonder how much more he can take. Oh don't get me wrong, Samuel Seaborn is strong, has carried us through some pretty tough situations, but I fear for his idealism, his care-free smile and the way his eyes shine when he's excited. I don't want him to lose any of this. 

Joshua. Josh Lyman. I've been thinking about him a lot lately. Probably more than I should, but let's be honest, I haven't had any action in quite some time so I'm sure these hormone-induced images of him in my mind don't mean anything. But it's not all sexual…I find myself wandering into his office at the end of a particularly hard day because I know that just being with him makes me happy. Sometimes we talk, sometimes we sit on his couch in silence and watch ESPN, and on very rare occasions we go out to dinner because neither of us remembered to eat during the day. 

He's one of the best friends I've ever had. He can make me laugh without even trying, can manage to brighten an otherwise dismal day by simply flashing his dimples, can make me forget about everything else as he spins one of his Capital Hill tales.

Of course, this also means he can make me cry without even trying, can manage to send my day straight to hell with his thoughtlessness, can make me so angry I throw things.

But I love him. 

As a friend, mind you. And maybe a little more, but I'm not prepared to start turning that over in my mind. Don't I have enough to worry about already?

He couldn't, or wouldn't, look at me either though. And it hurts. 

And now this emptiness is being replaced with anger at their abandonment. Anger is good, anger is an old friend of mine, anger is better than the numbness that occupied its space just a few minutes before. How dare they judge me? These men who sing the praises of women like Maria Cantwell, Dianne Feinstein and Carol Moseley, but can't even look me in the eye when I share a bit of my own life with them. Maybe none of them realized just how much one kind word, or look, would have meant to me. Or maybe they did, but couldn't look past their own pain to diminish mine.

In either case, they failed me.

I've been hiding in my office for the past three hours because the truth of the matter is, I'm scared of running into Toby, or Sam or Josh. So, I guess this does make me a coward, but I place the Tequila in the box, which is already filled near to capacity with framed pictures, degrees, awards and other things I've managed to accumulate over the past two years, by my feet anyway. You see, I've never been a drinker.


	3. Chapter III

Part III

Part III

__

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies. 

I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size 

But when I start to tell them, 

They think I'm telling lies. 

I say, It's in the reach of my arms, 

The span of my hips, 

The stride of my step, 

The curl of my lips. 

I'm a woman 

Phenomenally. 

Phenomenal woman, 

That's me. 

The human mind is a mystery. I have trouble memorizing the pin number to my ATM card, can't for the life of me remember the name of my Ethics professor at Harvard, and couldn't tell you when my mother's birthday is without looking at a calendar.

But I know every single line to a Maya Angelou poem. I, Josh Lyman, can still recite every stanza of 'Phenomenal Woman' after hearing it only once, fifteen years ago.

You see, I thought I was in love with her. She had this way about her. She wasn't what you would call classically beautiful; her eyes were to small, her nose too wide and her hair a mass of unruly curls that she kept cut close to her scalp.

But you forgot all that when she opened her mouth to speak. Then she became the most beautiful woman in the world, hell, she became the only woman in the world. 

I thought I loved her because she didn't wear pleated skirts and expensive cardigans. She didn't smell of Jean Nate and Ivory soap. She didn't carry her books close to her chest like the other girls on campus, and she never owned an umbrella.

I thought I loved her because she was like nothing I'd ever seen before.

__

I walk into a room 

Just as cool as you please, 

And to a man, 

The fellows stand or 

Fall down on their knees. 

Then they swarm around me, 

A hive of honeybees. 

I say, It's the fire in my eyes, 

And the flash of my teeth, 

The swing of my waist, 

And the joy in my feet. 

I'm a woman 

Phenomenally. 

Phenomenal woman, 

That's me. 

We were lying on opposite sides of the bed because she didn't like to cuddle after sex, didn't like what it implied. And so I asked her to speak, to say something because it made me feel like I was still part of her life. It didn't matter that she never returned my calls, that she only stayed until I fell asleep, and that she'd started spending more time with Tim, or Tom, or whatever his name was. 

Her voice had been sensual as she softly repeated the words crafted by Maya Angelou and the movement of her lips captivated me. I leaned in for a kiss, but she'd pushed me away and this is how I knew it was over.

I never saw her again after that night, but the poem reigned in her absence. Only now, I don't associate it with Leah, the free spirit I met my junior year at Harvard. 

No, now 'Phenomenal Woman' belongs to Claudia Jean; has since the night I met her. She walked into the room with a confidence I didn't think possible to possess, and won us all over with a dazzling smile.

Oh sure, we've all given her a hard time at one point or another. Disregarded her feelings or advice. Despite what she claims, it's not because she's the only woman on this all-star team. The truth of the matter is, she's the only person on the staff who will put up with our bullshit, and then go out for drinks with us at the end of the day just to make sure we get home all right. She's extraordinary, and she has no idea.

__

Men themselves have wondered 

What they see in me. 

They try so much 

But they can't touch 

My inner mystery. 

When I try to show them, 

They say they still can't see. 

I say, It's in the arch of my back, 

The sun of my smile, 

The ride of my breasts, 

The grace of my style. 

I'm a woman 

Phenomenally. 

Phenomenal woman, 

That's me. 

She has no idea because no one has ever told her. I've come close a few times…like when I'm sitting in a bar after one too many drinks, or when I'm stuck in traffic and a song comes on the radio that reminds me of her, or the one time she was sitting beside me watching the Lakers game and I couldn't focus on anything but the way the TV light danced across her features.

This love I have for CJ didn't just suddenly come upon me…it's been here from the moment she walked through the door of campaign headquarters in New Hampshire and I couldn't get the damn poem out of my head. But she doesn't know this.

No one does.

Oh, Sam thinks I have a little crush on her because he caught me staring at her from across the room one night at a Sate Dinner, but he doesn't know that I love her. Doesn't know that there have been nights when I've called her at home just because I needed to hear the sound of her voice, even if it was only a groggy 'hello' before I hung up in embarrassment.

I think Donna may have her suspicions too. She's a woman, and women are intuitive about these things. Of course, it could just be because she found the picture I have of CJ, taken on the night of the Inauguration Ball, buried under a stack of papers in the top drawer of my desk. Her head is thrown back, exposing her graceful neck, and she's laughing at something The First Lady said…I can't remember what it was now. But she looks magnificent. 

Donna never came right out and asked me about the picture. I think she just filed it away in her brain with the other 'My Boss is Weird' moments and moved on. But sometimes when I'm in the hallway talking with CJ, I'll catch Donna out of the corner of my eye observing us with this funny look on her face. 

Sigh.

I've tried to forget about CJ. Well, one could never forget her, let's be honest. What I mean is, I've tried to banish all romantic thoughts from my head because I know it could never work. I'm Josh, and she's CJ. Deputy Chief of Staff and Press Secretary. Friends, Buddies, Pals.

But I'm not feeling that confident in our relationship right now. 

I've never seen her cry. Not when Bartlet was elected, not when we lied to her before press briefings, and not even after the shooting. I'm sure she may have allowed herself the luxury of a few tears when she was alone, but never in front of us. Ever.

She finally made that concession to us though…Sam, Toby and me a few hours ago. Allowed us to see her sorrow and anguish, confirmed that she was human, and not the Emotional Superwoman we all thought her to be.

And what did we do?

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

The woman who has stood beside us, fought for us, fixed our mistakes without ever once asking anything in return, needed just one look of understanding and we couldn't give it to her. 

The truth of the matter is, I didn't know what I could do or say to assuage that guilt and pain so evident in her eyes. So I didn't do or say anything, because I feared whatever I decided would ring false and she would detect the trembling in my hands and voice.

She thinks we condemn her, thinks our silence is accusatory, thinks we've abandoned her. How do I tell her the truth? How do I tell her that the only reason I couldn't offer her comfort was because I didn't trust myself to speak without breaking down?

__

Now you understand 

Just why my head's not bowed. 

I don't shout or jump about 

Or have to talk real loud. 

When you see me passing, 

It ought to make you proud. 

I say, It's in the click of my heels, 

The bend of my hair, 

The palm of my hand, 

The need for my care. 

'Cause I'm a woman 

Phenomenally. 

Phenomenal woman, 

That's me.

I don't know what I'm going to say to her, but I know I need to try because she deserves it. She's a phenomenal woman, phenomenally.

++++++++

She is my daughter.

Oh, not in the blood of my blood, flesh of my flesh way, but in every other sense of the word. She was there in the beginning when I was speaking out of warehouses on fishing docks, and then when I was debating other democrats for the party nomination in more refined locations. She survived the almost suffocating heat of an Alabama summer, and the bitter cold of a New Hampshire winter. She traveled on cramped buses and lived out of cheap motel rooms. Ran on bottled water and Twinkies for weeks at a time.

She gave up her life for me. Because Toby told her I was a good man. That was all she needed to hear before selling her house, taking a pay cut and leaving the life-style she'd become accustomed to.

She left everything she knew behind to take on a difficult and often thankless task. She became the face of the campaign with a grace that surpassed our highest expectations. Bared the brunt of our anger when things didn't go well, cleaned up our political messes with her sharp wit and even sharper tongue, and smoothed down ruffled feathers when we took to in-fighting. She was amazing…is amazing.

If it was Toby who motivated us, Sam who pointed the way, and Josh who got us moving, it was CJ who made sure we followed through, even as we all wanted to give up. She was determination and tenacity personified, a tornado on legs. She still is.

She is my daughter.

And when she hurts, so do I. It's the nature of the relationship, you see. Her pain becomes my own until the invisible lines separating us as individuals are blurred beyond recognition. It's hard to tell where her sorrows end and mine begin…and that's how it should be.

She's hurting now, is about to go through the toughest thing in her life, and will be forced to do so with the eyes of the nation upon her. And I can't help her. I wish to God I could, but this is beyond my control.

CJ's ashamed. This woman who berated a decorated General stood in my office and refused to meet my gaze because she was afraid of what she might find there. She didn't understand that the disappointment in my voice came not from the knowledge of her past action, but from the knowledge that she would think me cruel enough to deprive her of my support, of my love.

So I let her walk away.

But I don't accept her resignation. I know she's going to fight me, going to try and convince me that leaving is the only option. But I have a reputation for being stubborn myself, and if there was ever an issue worth locking horns over, this is it. 

She's not like my daughter; she is my daughter.

+++++++++

She was known as 'The Linebacker' on the campaign trail because she used to run interference for us with Leo, or more frequently, Toby. When I thought I'd done something wrong, CJ was the first person I spoke to. I'd bring her coffee, or a brown paper bag filled with jawbreakers and fireballs and she'd set aside anything she was working on to listen. It was our signal.

Sometimes she'd cluck her tongue in sympathy at my latest faux pas, other times she'd deliver a swift slap to the back of my head. She was unpredictable that way. But in the end, she'd tell me that things weren't as bad as I'd perceived them to be, that she'd fix everything, that she'd talk to Leo or Toby, that she wouldn't tell Josh.

And she was as good as her word. I mean, sometimes a lecture from Toby was unavoidable, but she never let me down. Not once.

But things changed. Once Bartlet was elected, I felt like I'd graduated from the school of politics. I was one of the 'Big Boys' now and I didn't need anyone to fix my screw-ups. I could do it myself because I was that damn good.

Yes, I actually thought I didn't need CJ. Even told her as much. She'd been hurt, but in the typical CJ-fashion, she'd masked it with a sharp reply and a curt dismissal. I've never told her how wrong I was…how much I do need her, how much we all do.

So, here I am, standing outside her office with a bag full of those God-awful jawbreakers she's so fond of, trying to find the courage to knock on the door.

I screwed up again.

I'm willing to admit that much, willing to admit that I need her help. Only this time, it isn't because I messed up somewhere in the political arena, though that still happens from time to time. 

You see, I didn't know how to handle it. CJ doesn't have problems; we don't have to worry about her. I've always been confident in that knowledge. She's so great at what she does that it's sometimes hard to separate the Press Secretary from the woman; hard to see CJ as human.

She was crying. CJ doesn't cry. The sun doesn't rise in the west, pigs don't fly, money doesn't grow on trees, and CJ doesn't cry. These are fundamental truths. Not anymore.

Oh, I'm sure that I won't look up into the sky and see a flock of pigs, and that there aren't any money-tree orchids in Oregon, but CJ does, in fact, cry. 

I was scared, if you want to know the truth. Scared of what her tears meant…if CJ was unraveling, what was going to happen to the rest of us? I'm still scared, but I know she needs me, needs us.

"Sam?"

I turn around and smile in embarrassment as Carol sets her purse down upon her desk. I must have been extremely deep in thought if I didn't hear her come up behind me…or maybe it's that stealth thing women have again.

"Uh…hi Carol. I was, um…I was…is CJ in?"

She walks past me, tossing me a knowing look before knocking on the door while simultaneously opening it. It's too late to back out now.

"CJ, Sam's here."

"O.K."

She's sitting in her chair, with her legs propped up on the desk and crossed at the ankles. I can't help myself from admiring the view, but I'm quickly pulled back to reality as Carol closes the door and CJ sits up.

"What's up, Sam?" She asks me softly. The pitch of her voice doesn't fool me…there's this hardness to her tone that I've only heard her use with our enemies, never with us, no matter how much we piss her off.

I'm startled because I wasn't expecting it, and I can't seem to think of anything appropriate to say as an opener. She's looking at me with her eyebrow arched, and I can see the impatience working it's way across her face, but still I can't seem to speak.

So instead, I hold up the bag of candy and shrug my shoulders. I guess this is the right thing to do because she flashes me the most beautiful smile I've ever seen and gets to her feet. I round the desk before she does though, and pull her into my arms.

I hold her so tight that I'm afraid I'm hurting her, but I can't seem to release the pressure because I'm afraid if I do, she'll let go. But then I realize that she's squeezing me just as tightly and I bury my face into the side of her neck.

"I'm so sorry CJ."

Just then, the door to her office bursts open and we pull apart slightly. "Now, I want you to listen…to just listen while I try and—whoa, am I interrupting something here?"

There's a spark of jealousy in Josh's eyes as he approaches the two of us, and I can't help but smile at CJ. 

"I mean, I can come back in ten minutes while you two finish making out, but you really should put a sign on the door."

CJ throws her head back to laugh and Josh gets this dreamy look on his face, the same look he's had for a while when he thinks no one is watching him observe her. I move my arms from around her waist and gently push her forward.

This is the only cue Josh needs before he tenderly encloses her wrist in his fingers and tugs her toward him. Their embrace is much more intimate, and I feel like I'm intruding on something private. I know Josh has feelings for CJ, and now I wonder if maybe there's some reciprocity. Heaven help us.

The moment ends too soon though as there is another interruption from the doorway; this time in the form of President Bartlet. If he's surprised to find us there, he doesn't show it. He just smiles at the three of us and inclines his head.

"You two mind if I have a word with CJ?"

"No sir." I answer for the both of us, because Josh doesn't seem too inclined to answer right now.

He gives her hand a gentle squeeze and follows me out of the office. We both know why Bartlet's here…he's going to talk her into staying. I think at this point, he's the only one who can.

"We're gonna be o.k." I whisper more to myself than Josh.

But he looks at me anyway and nods his head. "Yeah."

+++++++++

Sometimes, he would have to drive fifty miles to the next town to find a Starbucks. Sam would never tell me this as he set the large plastic cup in front of me, but the melted whipped cream was always a telltale sign. Well, that and the fact that the first thing I ever did when we pulled into a city was ask the hotel clerk for directions to the nearest café of my addiction. So, when Sam strode into my office with a Caramel Frappuchino, I always knew exactly how far he had to go to get it. Most of the time, the liquid was luke-warm, but it always tasted sweetest that way because I knew he'd gone out of his way for me.

Other times, he'd come to me with a bag filled with my favorite candy and he'd explain his latest lapse of judgment while I rummaged through the goodies. He's always been a sweetheart.

However, Sam hasn't come to see me like that in quite some time. Not since Bartlet was inaugurated, in fact. 

I was full of righteous indignation when he came into my office, waiting for an excuse to make him feel as small as they'd made me feel earlier, but he didn't give me the chance. Instead, he'd held up his offering and I felt all the anger deflate like air from a tire.

And then Josh. God his arms felt so nice. I felt safe, secure, electrified. Did I just say electrified? Well…I don't know how else to describe it, but then again, this is neither the time nor the place to be thinking of how his touch affected the rate of my pulse, so I'll just move on to other things.

Like Bartlet, and why he's sitting on my couch now.

"Have a seat CJ." He says quietly as he pats the cushion beside him. I hesitate for only a moment before complying, and hope he doesn't notice.

But he's an observant man, and I see the hurt in his eyes before I even sit down. I start fiddling with the hem of my skirt because I don't know what to do with my hands…it's a nervous habit I've been trying extremely hard to curb.

"Why are you so uncomfortable around me, CJ? What have I done to make you so scared of me?"

"Nothing, sir."

"Then why can't you look me in the eye?"

I know that nothing I say can erase the fear that somewhere along the line, he's done something wrong. I want to reassure him, tell him that he's one of the most amazing men I've ever met, that my reluctance has nothing to do with him. But in the end, I only sit there mute because the words stick in my throat.

"Claudia Jean, do you think I…do you think I blame you for this somehow? Do you think I judge you?"

I sigh and rest my head on the back of the couch so that I'm staring at the ceiling. Well, I would be staring at the ceiling if my eyes were open, which they're not. Why does this have to be so difficult? He's asking me questions I don't know the answers to, and he's not leaving until he gets them. Maybe if I just sit here quietly, he'll get the hint and…no, I didn't think so.

"I'm not letting you shut me out, CJ."

His voice is quiet, but he has spoken with so much conviction that I can't help but look at him. He's got 'the pitbull' expression on now. The one that means he's not going to let go of the issue until it is resolved to his satisfaction. 

"Sir, all due respect, this is my own personal—"

"Own-of or belonging to oneself or itself. Personal-of or relating to a particular person. It's not proper to say 'my own personal' anything because the my—"

"All right, you know what? I'm pretty sure I don't give a damn about the syntax of my sentence."

"What do you give a damn about, then?"

The question catches me off guard, and I pause for a moment because I know he's trying to trap me. Trying to get me to say something he can use against me. 

"Don't you have a meeting to get to, or…something?" I try to keep the irritation out of my voice because he's the President of the United States for Pete's sake, but he can be so damn annoying sometimes.

"Nope…I had Charlie clear my schedule for the rest of the afternoon…or however long it takes."

I know I'm going to regret it, but I ask anyway. "However long what takes?"

"When you were in my office earlier, and I…" He trails off, and I can almost see the wheels turning in his head. "Have I ever told you the story about the two travelers and the bear?"

OK, now I'm confused, but knowing his penchant for going off on tangents, I'm not too surprised by the sudden turn in the conversation. "Um, no sir. I don't believe you have."

"Two men were traveling together, when a Bear suddenly met them on their path. One of them climbed up quickly into a tree and concealed himself in the branches. The other, seeing that he must be attacked, fell flat on the ground, and when the Bear came up and felt him with his snout, and smelt him all over, he held his breath, and feigned the appearance of death as much as he could. The Bear soon left him, for it is said he will not touch a dead body. When he was quite gone, the other Traveler descended from the tree, and jocularly inquired of his friend what it was the Bear had whispered in his ear. 'He gave me this advice,' his companion replied. 'Never travel with a friend who deserts you at the approach of danger.'" He smiles at me as he takes my hand. "You get what I'm saying here, CJ?"

I try to swallow the lump in my throat because I promised myself that I wouldn't cry again. Ever. But he's looking at me with such earnestness and confidence, and I can't help the lone trail that slides down my cheek. I want to wipe it away, but now he's got both my hands firmly ensconced in his own and I can't move them.

"We're a family, we're here to support you, and we're not letting you leave."

"I can't—"

"You've taken care of us more times than I can count…please let us return the favor."

My body is wracked with sobs now and I hate myself because I feel out of control, lost, like my world is spinning off its axis. This isn't how it's supposed to be. "I don't think I have the strength to fight this."

Bartlet pulls me into his arms and tucks my head beneath his chin. "That's ok, Claudia Jean, because we do." 

+++++

TBC

****


	4. Chapter IV

Part IV

Part IV

I forget how long they've known each other sometimes. Forget that before she and I were sharing laughs over a joke, they were sharing cigarettes and expensive bourbon. Forget that there are things only he knows about her, things he isn't willing to share with the rest of us.

They have this bond, this connection born of years, and cigarette smoke, and ice clinking against tumblers. And it sustains them when sometimes he is too sharp with her, or she too flippant with his feelings.

I used to be jealous of their relationship because they had something together that I could never touch. They speak a secret language with hidden meanings and cloaked words. It's complicated, and dangerous. Sometimes I wonder if it's the only way they can communicate without crossing that invisible line in their friendship. 

I forget how long they've known each other sometimes because there are days when they appear less than strangers. There are days when he passes her in the hallway without greeting her. There are days when she shoots down one of his ideas in staff before he's even finished speaking.

But then there are days when he holds the door open for her when they enter the building together. And there are days when she brings him breakfast from the cafeteria because he'll forget to eat otherwise. 

Their friendship is tempered with snide remarks and shy compliments; thoughtlessness and solicitude; sarcasm and sincerity. They bear the familiarity of old lovers, and the tentativeness of newborns. They're nestled in a cocoon of contradiction, and they're happy.

Were happy, or at least comfortable.

Now, Toby's door is closed forbiddingly, and his blinds drawn tightly. Ginger and Bonnie are huddled over the large file cabinet in the corner of the bullpen, talking in hushed voices. They spot me, and stand a little straighter in defense as they realize where I'm headed.

"I wouldn't go in there, Josh." Bonnie warns me as she crosses her arms over her chest.

"He on the warpath?"

"Not exactly…that would mean he'd have to engage in social interaction of some sort." Ginger mutters as she throws a manila folder on the desk. "I came in to work this weekend because he needed me to research some statistics…he made it sound important. Now he won't even bother to read them."

"Look…there's some things going on. Be sweet to him, will you?"

Bonnie snorts and I can see I've offended them. "When are we ever anything but sweet to him?" Ginger cuts in.

I shrug and dip my head. "I'm just saying…"

"Yeah. You want me to—" Bonnie gestures to the door.

"No, that's ok. I'll surprise him. But, if you hear anything crashing…please alert the Secret Service."

I don't wait for a response as I grip the knob and open the door. It takes a minute for my eyes to adjust to the darkness, but I can make out his silhouette behind the desk. I wait for him to tell me to get out, but he doesn't, and this is how I know things are bad.

"Toby?" 

I pull on the metal chain of the small lamp on his desk and wince as the harsh light bathes our faces, and nothing else. He looks at me now, and I have to glance away from the intensity of his gaze. I feel like I'm intruding on something very private, but I can't leave him here alone, victim to his own demons.

"What do you want?" His voice is soft and laced with weariness.

"I'm worried about you…you've been holed up in here all day."

"Josh…" He warns as he leans back in his chair.

"I don't know what kind of memories this brings up, or what's going through—"

"You don't want to go there with me." He interrupts as he gets to his feet.

"No, I really don't, but someone has to, because she needs our support. So you're just going to have to swallow whatever—"

His fist sails across the desk with a speed I wouldn't think possible for someone of his size to possess and connects with my jaw before I can even finish my sentence. And damn it hurts. He rounds the desk and for one cowardly moment I think of walking, no scratch that—running, away, but then I think of how lost CJ looked in the Roosevelt room, and I can't.

"That make you feel better, big guy?" It takes all I have not to rub the side of my face, but I somehow manage to restrain myself. "Go on, hit me again. Use me as a punching bag, because you're not going to use her."

I brace myself because he seriously looks as if he's considering it, but he suddenly turns and flings the door open. I watch him from the doorway as he plows through the bullpen, and disappears around the corner.

"What happened to your face?" Ginger asks as she rushes to my side and tentatively reaches out to touch my jaw. "Did Toby do this to you?"

I back away and hold my hands up to ward her off. "He's just a little upset."

"Well, I'd hate to see what the other guy looks like." Oh great. As if my day couldn't get worse, President Bartlet has chosen this moment to leave CJ's office and is now standing in front of me. "You got a minute, Josh?"

"Of course, sir."

He ushers me into Toby's now-vacant office and closes the door behind him. I dip my head towards the window, "Is she staying?"

The President smiles and nods. "I managed to talk her into it. She's making a call right now."

"Her dad?"

"Yeah. Listen, Josh, things are going to get hard around here."

"You mean to tell me things haven't been hard, yet?"

"Funny boy. We're going to meet in the Oval at eight to go over our options."

"I understand."

"And Josh…Toby and CJ are going to have to work this out for themselves. Don't get involved."

"Yeah, now you tell me."

Bartlet chuckles and grips my shoulder. "And I would've told you the same thing, if you'd have asked me."

"Yes sir."

"Good…well, I've gotta—" He motions vaguely towards the door.

"Yeah."

His hand is on the knob, but something strikes him, and he turns to face me. "Give her some space, Josh. She's confused enough as it is without you making moon eyes at her."

I think about denying it for a moment, but it's not exactly in my best interests to lie to the President of the United States. "How did you know?"

"I've got eyes in my head, and anyone who's willing to face the wrath of Toby Ziegler's got to have some pretty strong feelings. I'm just saying to give her some time. She's vulnerable."

"I'd never hurt her."

"I know that…"

He leaves the office and I finally give into the temptation of rubbing my aching jaw. I'm never going to live this one down, but I'd go through a lot more for Claudia Jean if she asked me. Who says chivalry is dead?

++++++++++

Tom had it the easiest growing up. He was the baby of the family and my mother doted on him, if only because he hid in the folds of her dress when strangers came to visit. She basked in his dependency; hell, she encouraged it.

Tom was special, is special. He was the kind of kid who always looked down at the asphalt when he walked because he didn't want to step on any ants, or other hapless insects. He was always bringing home stray dogs and cats, and nursing baby birds that'd fallen out of their nests.

He used to get picked on a lot. He'd come home about once a week with a bloody nose, or fat lip, and I'd be forced to go hunt down the assailants because no one messed with my baby brother. In hindsight, maybe this is why he got picked on so much; his sister was always fighting his battles. But I just felt that need to protect him.

My mother had wanted Tom to become a Priest, but it was evident by the time he reached high school that his passion lay with science; It didn't matter that he had to work twice as hard as everyone else to understand the principles and theorems. He'd started researching good veterinarian schools before he reached his junior year. 

Tom was the one my mother bragged about to her friends over coffee. He was the one she hugged extra long at Mass when we exchanged signs of peace. And he was the one she held dinner up for when he was running late.

And then there was Peter, all boy that one. He played every sport there was, and then made up some of his own for good measure. He was fiercely independent and had instituted a no-kissing rule for my mother before he reached his sixth birthday. 

Sometimes he'd let me tag along with him and the neighborhood boys to the lake two miles away. Other times, he'd ditch me because my bike would have a flat and he didn't want to get left behind. He'd put gum in my hair one day, and bring home shiny new marbles for me the next. He was a mystery.

Peter was popular and well liked in high school, had even been voted 'Most Likely to Succeed'. Everyone expected him to sail through Stanford and become a doctor, or even lawyer. So it came as a great surprise when he decided at the last minute to apprentice himself to a welder instead. It wasn't until three months later when he'd returned from Las Vegas with his new wife that we knew he and Jeanette were expecting their first child. My mother had been scandalized of course, but I remember the look of pride in my father's eyes as he'd patted Peter on the shoulder and told him he'd done the right thing.

And finally, there was Joseph, the product of my father's first marriage. He'd come to live with us after he'd had one too many run-ins with the law. He'd resented my father, barely tolerated my mother, and ignored my brothers. 

But he was different with me. He'd let me come into his room and listen to records while he rolled joints. And he talked to me. I mean really talked to me. He had this way of looking at me while he listened, like I was announcing the Second Coming of Christ. He made me feel important.

I cried until my eyes were swollen shut the day he was shipped to Basic Training Camp in Illinois. I was thirteen and couldn't understand why he'd choose to fight in a war so far from home. My father said it'd be good for him, and my mother was relieved to have him out of the house. I was the only one who mourned his absence.

We wrote to each other once a week, and although he never said it, I knew he was scared. I knew this because he never wrote about living in a foreign jungle, or dead bodies, or burning villages. Instead, he wrote poems about the girl he'd met in Hanoi, and pressed tropical flowers flat between thin sheets of paper. When the letters stopped coming, my father assured me it was just because he was busy, or that the post office was slow in delivering international mail.

My mother had been slathering Tom's shoulders with aloe to soothe his sunburn when the man came to the door. He'd held his hat in his hands and twisted it nervously as he imparted the news and extended his sympathies. To this day I can't stand the smell of aloe because it takes me back to the summer of 1974, when I locked myself in Joseph's room and wouldn't let anyone near his things because they were all I had left of him. Death changes everything.

I'm holding the phone cord so tight that it's almost cutting off my circulation as I wait for my father to pick up the other end in California.

"Cregg residence."

I place the picture of my brothers that I've been studying for the past twenty minutes back on my desk and answer, "Hi Dad."

"What's wrong, Claudia?"

I smile despite myself because he knows me too well, and has seen past the false note of cheerfulness in my voice. "I um, I have something to tell you, dad."

I hear the sharp intake of breath on the other end, and my father clears his throat. "You're not…you're not sick, are you?"

"No…nothing like that." I quickly assure him, although I'm sure that would almost be easier for him to accept at this point.

"I don't…I don't know how to say this." I whisper.

"Just come right out with it, Claudia Jean." His voice is so confident, so soothing. He thinks he can handle this, thinks I'm not about to break his heart.

I take a deep breath and close my eyes. "Five years ago…five years ago, dad, I went to a clinic and I…I went to a clinic and I had an abortion." I wait for a response, and when there is none, I continue. "I didn't want you to find out, didn't want to disappoint you, but there's going to be a newspaper article tomorrow, and it'll be on the evening news…and I, well, I just wanted to tell you myself. And Dad, I won't blame you, won't blame you one bit, if you decide never to speak to me again. But you have to know that I never—"

"I know. I know about the…your visit to the clinic."

"But…how?" I ask, and there is this pain in my chest, and it is so hard to breathe.

"Father Flynn…you see, he was holding a vigil outside of the gates."

"But I was in—"

"Chicago. He was visiting his brother."

"How long have you known."

"He called me that night…I've known for five years." This shouldn't be so easy, this telling him. I want him to denounce me, to hang up the phone in disgust because it's what I deserve. And almost as if he's reading my mind, he speaks again, this time softly. "It's time you stopped blaming yourself, Claudia. It's time you let this go. There have been so many nights I've wanted to call you, to let you know that I know. To let you know that I loved you before you walked through those doors, and I loved you after you walked out. You are my daughter, and nothing could make me love you any less."

There is this pressure in my chest, and behind my eyes and before I can stop it, I'm sobbing uncontrollably as my father tries to soothe me with his gentle tone and endearments. After my cries have subsided to a few sniffles and hiccups, my father says,

"It's time to come home, Claudia. You need to heal your heart, and you can't do it with cameras and reporters at your doorstep."

"I can't dad…I have to be here…I have work to do."

He sighs in disappointment, but he doesn't press the issue. "Promise me something."

"Anything."

"Promise me that if things get to be too much, if you can't handle this, you'll come home."

"I promise."

"Good, because there is someone I'd like you to meet."

I laugh now and loosen my grip on the phone cord. "Dad, do you have a girlfriend?"

"I don't have time for that sort of nonsense, Claudia Jean." He says disapprovingly, and I hear the sound of a chair sliding across the linoleum floor as he sits down at the kitchen table. "I went down to the animal shelter on Saturday, and believe me when I tell you that I picked up the most amazing dog you'll ever see."

"You got a dog?"

"I most certainly did. And the tricks Rufus can—"

"Wait, you named him Rufus?"

"No, his previous owners did, but that's beside the point. I have to tell you…"

I smile now because my father can still talk to me about animal shelters and dogs, can still make me giggle like a little girl, and can still say 'I love you' without sounding false.

He has forgiven me, even when I can't forgive myself. And although I'm a long way from completeness, the healing has begun, and it is enough for now.

+++++++++++

The smell of her perfume reaches me before the sound of her footsteps. It's the same soft scent she's been wearing for years, subtle and intoxicating. I've never gathered the courage to ask her what it is; it's too intimate. 

But I once spent two hours at Macy's sampling every perfume bottle locked behind the glass cases because I needed to know the brand. And there is a pillowcase in my top drawer that still lingers with her scent from the night she spent on my couch during our first week in office. I can't bring myself to wash it.

I've never told her any of this, of course. It would scare her, hell it scares me. And then I remember that I'm supposed to be mad at her, and so I don't turn around when the footsteps stop a few inches behind me. I can see her reflection in the smooth marble of the memorial and realize that she's not looking at me, but at a point beyond my shoulders.

"Is there something you wanted?" I ask gruffly after the silence becomes almost unbearable.

"Can we talk?" She asks, and her voice is rough with emotion, but she's still not looking at me.

"How did you know where to find me?" I relent as I turn to face her, and I notice that she's not wearing a coat.

She finally tears her gaze away from the wall and shrugs as she meets my eyes. "I had a hunch."

"Did you talk to Josh?" I ask, and unconsciously run a finger across my bruised knuckles.

Her face is set in lines of confusion and she shakes her head negatively. "No…should I have?"

"No, I was just wondering."

She seems to accept this weak answer because she looks off to the side and absently begins to move around the loose gravel with the toe of her shoe. She sighs and looks up again. "So…"

"Yeah."

"You're angry with me."

I wonder if she realizes how ridiculous her statement sounds, how my feelings go beyond anger, how hard I'm trying to control myself because no matter what I'm feeling right now, I don't want to hurt her.

She runs her fingers through her hair and shifts nervously on her feet because I don't answer. After all these years she knows how to read my silences though, so she takes this as a sign to continue. 

"You don't have any right, Toby."

"Any right to what?" I ask angrily, and I'm aware that my voice is pitched a little higher than normal.

"You don't have any right to judge me."

"Is that what you think I'm doing?"

She snorts. "Aren't you? You're a self-righteous son of a bitch Toby Ziegler, and don't tell me that you haven't been sitting in your office all day wondering what kind of woman kills her own child."

Her eyes dare me to contradict, but I can't. "You don't know what I went through, don't know how much I agonized over that decision, how much I still wonder if I did the right thing." She says softly as she looks away. 

"You should've told me." I counter quietly.

"I should've…" She trails off incredulously, and then meets my gaze squarely. "Fuck you."

She brushes past me, but almost on it's own accord, my hand snakes out and grips her arm in what I know is a bruising grip, but she doesn't flinch. "Let go." She says simply.

"Why didn't you tell me?" I ask, and I hate the vulnerability in my voice.

She jerks her arm free and points her finger accusingly. "You stopped calling. You never answered my letters. I didn't even get a lousy e-mail in three years, and you want to know why I didn't tell you?"

Her voice is shrill, and I wince. "You don't know what it was like, CJ. You didn't have to see the look in Andi's eyes whenever I got off the phone with you, didn't have to deal with her insecurities. She was my wife…what did you expect me to do?"

"Nothing." There are tears in her eyes, and her voice is heart-breakingly low. "I expected nothing of you, Toby. Because she was your wife and you were my friend, and I knew you loved her. And all I ever wanted was for you to be happy. But I'll be damned if I let you stand here and try to pin this on me."

I've never once considered how those years of silence weighed on her soul. I've never considered it because when I showed up at her house three years ago to recruit her for Bartlet's campaign, she acted as if there had never been three years of unanswered letters, and un-returned phone calls. She never demanded an explanation, never asked questions. 

"And later?"

"Later, what?"

"You could've told me later…when you joined the campaign."

She closes her eyes briefly, and I've disappointed her again because whatever response she's been expecting, this wasn't it. She pinches the bridge of her nose and sighs. "I barely recognized you. You were so different, so…hard." The breeze ruffles her hair and she looks up into the velvet sky, blanketed now with bright stars. "I've been trying to forget, Toby. Because there are days when I can barely get out of bed, when I have to force myself to brush my teeth and put some clothes on. There's this hole…this emptiness, and I don't know how to fix it, but as long as I don't think about it, as long as I try to forget the smell of the clinic antiseptic, then I can live without what's missing." She sighs again and seems embarrassed by her admission. "God, I sound so pathetic."

Her honesty and the fragility of her posture startle me. And before I know what I'm doing, I've removed my coat and draped it around her shoulders. I'm so ashamed of myself, and I wish I could just erase the last six hours. But I can't, and so instead I have to concentrate on the next six hours, and how I'm going to help this amazing woman. 

"I'm…I'm sorry, CJ." There are so many other things I want to tell her. Poetic things, mundane things, romantic things, trivial things…but in the end I can't. "I'm so sorry." I repeat.

The coat falls from her shoulders as she pulls me closer and wraps her arms loosely around my neck. "Oh Toby…" She breathes against my temple.

And I know she's forgiven me, because she moves away to gently wipe the tears from my cheeks. Tears I wasn't even aware I'd shed. She holds my face between her hands for a moment before she gently plants a kiss on my forehead.

"We should get back…" She murmurs as she bends down to pick up the fallen coat. She drapes it across her forearm and intertwines her fingers in mine, leading me across the park.

And we walk back to the White House this way, our joined hands swinging loosely between us, and my coat dangling over her arm. 

++++

TBC


	5. Chapter V

The first time I found him waiting for me on the couch in my office, he'd been drunk

Disclaimer: What's the saying? Wish in one hand and shi-oh never mind. It   
goes without saying really that this is an amateur work of fiction, and no   
copyright infringement is intended.  
  
Notes: Whew. This is going to be a doozy. I will be touching on some   
extremely sensitive subjects in this story, specifically, abortion. As this   
is an issue I know most folks feel very strongly about, I am attempting to   
present both sides without leaning one way or the other.  
  
I've done a little research on the 'net and am going to include the   
pertinent links. The Feminists for Life page is   
[http://www.feministsforlife.org/][1], and the Emily's List page is   
[][2]http://www.emilyslist.org/. Also, for more information on the Freedom of   
Access to Clinic Entrances Act, check out   
[][3]http://www.msu.edu/user/schwenkl/abtrbng/s636.htm  
  
Category: CJ/T friendship, CJ/J friendship.eventually romance perhaps. :)  
  
Summary: Series of first person POV, relating to a traumatic instance in   
CJ's life.  
  
Rating: Right now about PG-13.  
  
Feedback: Rocks! Fauquita@hotmail.com  
  
Spoilers: None specifically, but everything is fair game.  
  
Thanks: Lizisita and Sidalicious. Thank you gals for your friendship and   
inspiration. Also big ups to all those other CJ/J authors for giving me the   
courage to delve into this genre.

Special Note: The Irish proverb contained herein is called 'Smiling Through Tears' and can be found, among other places, at: [http://www.luquette.org/inspire/irish_blessings.htm][4]

+++++++++++++++++++++++

The first time I found him waiting for me on the couch in my office, he'd been drunk. And my office wasn't an office so much as it was a closet with windows. I'd only been on the campaign two weeks, and already I had grown men crying on my couch. Okay, he wasn't really crying…more like railing against Mandy Hampton, and women in general.

The second time I found him waiting for me on the couch in my office, he'd been sober. And my office wasn't an office so much as it was a converted motel room outside of Wildomar, California. We'd been on the trail for a little over two months, and he was burned out. In his defense, we were all a little burned out.

It became a tradition with Josh and me. I knew without a doubt that after a particularly trying day, he'd be waiting for me in my office, room, or even a few times, the large bus we traveled in. We clung to each other because he needed someone to talk to without watching what he said, and I needed someone to listen to without having to take notes.

The last time I found him waiting for me on the couch in my office, he'd been drunk again. But this time it wasn't scotch…it was the euphoria of having just helped a man get elected to the highest office in the country. And the couch…well it was brand new, something he had shipped from Pier One, or Ikea, or someplace like that, and put in my new spacious office as a surprise. He really is very sweet sometimes.

I guess the whole point of this rambling is that he's waiting for me on the couch in my office again…something that hasn't happened in two years. And he's sleeping. You know, with his mouth hanging open and everything. It's times like these I wish I knew how to operate the camera my brother sent me for my birthday five years ago. Bygones.

He looks so uncomfortable though. He's still pretty much sitting in an upright position, with his head thrown back against the cushion and his arms crossed over his chest. I don't know how long he's been here, but he's sleeping soundly because when I sit down beside him he doesn't even stir.

So I've come to the conclusion that I am a pathetic woman, because here I am, sitting in the dark, listening to Josh's breathing, and thinking how wonderful it would be to fall asleep to this particular sound each night. Kill me now, please.

I lean my head back and close my eyes, and in the back of my mind I'm hoping that I'll wake up in my bed at home, and find out this was all just a terrible dream. But sleep won't come because I know that no amount of wishing is going to erase this day, or the days to come. The most I can do is sit quietly in the dark, drawing comfort from a friend whom doesn't even know I'm there.

"Claudia Jean?"

Well, I guess he does now.

"I'm sorry…I didn't mean to wake you."

"No…no. I was waiting up for you." His voice is still thick with sleep, and he's talking in that hushed tone usually reserved for funerals. "Are you all right?"

I smile at him, even though I'm pretty sure he can't see me. "I'm still in one piece, if that's what you're worried about…although maybe I should be asking you that question."

"Toby told you?"

"You really did a number on his knuckles with your face, Josh. He wasn't very forthcoming with information, but I eventually wheedled it out of him." I say as I stand up and cross the office to my desk. After a few seconds of scrambling, I find the lamp switch and blink a few times as the harsh light comes to life with a simple tug of the chain.

Josh chuckles humorlessly and as I turn around, I understand why. The side of his face is swollen so that it looks like he's harboring a giant Gobstopper in his cheek. And well, there really isn't a color in any Crayola box I've ever seen that matches the hue of that great big bruise on his face.

"Oh Josh, what in the hell were you thinking?" I sigh as I sit beside him again and tentatively reach out my fingertips to caress his cheek. He flinches at the contact, but doesn't pull away. "You should know better than to mess with Toby when he's in a mood."

"Well, in my own defense, I didn't think he was actually going to hit me."

"Come on, let's go to the Mess and get some ice." 

"No way…everyone's going to be staring at me." 

"Oh stop being such a guy. Unless you plan on wearing a paper bag on your head, which by the way isn't such a bad idea, for the rest of the week, then I'm pretty sure everyone is going to know Toby kicked your ass."

"Let me state for the record that Toby did not kick my ass. He threw one punch and—"

"He threw one punch, and just look at you. I don't even want to think about what you would've looked like if you hadn't curled into a ball and played dead."

I know I'm having way too much fun at his expense, but I'm usually on the receiving end of Josh's own unique brand of humor, so I don't feel too bad. But he's looking at me with those wounded eyes and I smile despite myself.

"I don't know what tales Mr. Ziegler has been regaling you with, but I most certainly did not curl up into a ball and—"

"Oh calm down, Josh. I was kidding. Now come, we're going to try and get that swelling down." I instruct as I get to my feet. He eyes my extended hand warily for a moment before capitulating and accepting my help. "Although…I gotta ask."

"What?"

"Why didn't you hit him back?"

For once I think he's about to give me a serious answer, because his brow furrows in what I take to be deep thought. Maybe he's going to tell me that he knows Toby needed to hit something, and he was willing to sacrifice himself. Maybe he's going to tell me that he was scared of what might happen if he did return the blow. Or maybe he's going to tell me he was still dazed from the first punch that he couldn't even think to reciprocate.

He cracks a smile and shrugs. "I'm a lover, not a fighter."

++++++++++

It's really tough putting up a macho front when what you really want to do is scream like a girl. At least I don't give into the temptation of batting CJ's hand away as she presses the make-shift ice-pack onto my cheek. She arches an eyebrow at my clenched fist, but refrains from saying anything.

We are alone in the cafeteria, and most of the chairs have been stacked on the tables. The smell of disinfectant is in the air…kind of a combination of chlorine and Pinesol, and it reminds me of elementary school. It's comforting in an odd sort of way.

"So, I never said thank you."

"For what?"

CJ smiles and squeezes my arm gently. "For defending my honor…or whatever the hell you were doing when you decided to march into Toby's office."

"You know, for someone who's trying to sound grateful, you aren't being very nice." 

She chuckles lightly and moves my hand so that I am now supporting the ice pack. I lessen the pressure considerably and try not to wince at the soreness of my jaw. "Oh Josh…what am I going to do with you?"

I wiggle my eyebrows suggestively and grin. "You want me to alphabetize a list for you?"

She swats my arm and laughs openly…and God, how great the sound is. I know it's a bit cliched, but her laughter really is musical. It's lilting and happy, and whenever I hear the sound, I can't help but join in too because it's so contagious. I want to tell her this, and much more, but I'm scared.

I'm scared she'll see the vulnerability in my eyes and run screaming. The one insecurity that consumes CJ is her fear that she will hurt someone she cares about. Oh, she's never told me this, but I know it anyway. 

I know it because she'll eat all the cookies Carol bakes for potluck lunches when no one else will touch them. I know it because instead of telling Sam his tie is ugly, she'll go out and buy him a new one. I know it because she once endured three hours of a Doobie Brothers concert rather than tell me she hated the band. 

I don't want to scare her away, but there is so much I'm longing to know, so much I need to know. There are better places than the deserted cafeteria in the West Wing to have this conversation, but I can't bring myself to wait. I'm frightened that I may never get the chance to ask her all the questions I have, so as with everything else in my life, I plunge in headfirst.

"Do you have any regrets?" I ask quietly.

Her smile fades immediately and she looks down at her hands. CJ's face, her beautiful face, is usually so expressive, so vibrant and illuminating. Now, it is set in hard, angry lines and she seems to have aged five years right in front of my eyes. She sighs, and I hear the tiny catch in her throat.

"Every day." She whispers so softly that it takes me a moment to realize she has spoken. She looks up and meets my gaze, and I am taken aback at the naked pain in her eyes. "God Joshua…those people out there…those people who want to punish women like me…they have no idea. I have to live with my decision for the rest of my life, and that is punishment enough."

"You…you think you made the wrong choice?"

"No." She answers vehemently. "No…I know I wasn't ready. Horrible…I would have been a horrible mother."

CJ a horrible mother? It's not possible. She's so full of love, so gentle and kind-hearted. How could she think she would have been anything less than perfect with a child?

"Why do you think that, CJ?" My voice sounds pained, even to my own ears.

"I couldn't bear the thought of not loving my own child. What if I hated him, or resented him? There would be no one to protect him from me. I couldn't bear the thought of destroying someone, a child, like that. No, I know I made the right decision…but Josh, there are days when I wake up and wonder if the baby would've had my eyes, or his nose. And I hate myself. I just hate myself." 

Her voice is strangely calm and resolution sparks in her eyes, and I have to know what, or who, made this intelligent, capable, and caring woman so unsure of her capacity to love. And then it hits me like the proverbial ton of bricks.

You see, as much as CJ talks about her brothers, about her father, about the modest home in Napa and the summers spent in Tahoe, I can count on one hand the number of times she has ever mentioned her mother. And I know without a doubt that all the anguish carved in her features now stems from the woman who died while CJ was working on her masters at Berkeley.

"CJ…oh CJ-," is all I can manage before pulling her awkwardly into my arms. She doesn't resist, but she is stiff and quiet in my embrace, and I don't know what to do. "I don't…I don't know what your mother said, or did to you, but—"

She pulls back with lightning speed, and is on her feet in an instant. "Don't…just don't go there, Joshua."

The anger in her voice brings me to my feet as well. "It's true, isn't it? This…this fear you had, this fear you have comes from your mother." I'm yelling now, and I realize from the look in her eyes that this isn't the best tactic, so I relent. "What was she like? You never talk about her-," I try softly.

She clenches her fists and begins to pace the room. "My father and brothers loved her very much."

"But how did you feel about her?" I coax.

She shrugs her shoulders and looks at a point behind me. "When I was five, I remember her pulling me onto her lap while she put her make-up on. She was so beautiful…and I wanted to be just like her." She sighs. "I don't know if you can understand this Josh…but there is a point in every girl's life when she is absolutely certain that there is no one more perfect than her mother."

"At what point do you realize that she's human, and faulted?"

She looks at me then, and there is such infinite sadness in the smile she offers that it takes all I have not to cross the room and kiss it all away.

"It depends really. I know women who still worship their mothers…and I just wish it could've been like that for me."

"But it wasn't?"

She laughs bitterly and looks as if she's ready to fall to pieces any minute now. "She hated me, Josh. And I don't mean she favored my brothers, or that she was strict with me. I mean there wasn't a day I looked into her eyes that I didn't see disgust, or disapproval. She hated me, and she didn't care that I knew it."

"I'm sorry." I know it's inadequate, but it seems the only appropriate thing to say.

"Don't be…it made me stronger. Her hatred made me independent, made me push myself harder to prove I was just as worthy as Tom or Peter."

"But it also made you afraid, CJ. It made you doubt yourself…your ability to love."

There is a movement at the door, and suddenly we are joined by Toby. He looks between the two of us curiously but refrains from making any observations. Instead, he puts his hands in his pockets and speaks to CJ.

"It's time for the meeting…The President, Leo and Sam are waiting for us in the Oval."

CJ nods her head, and with one last look in my direction brushes past Toby into the hallway. I sigh in frustration but decide that maybe what she needs is time…time to deal with her demons, time to heal. I move to follow her, but Toby steps in my way.

He's not looking at me, and I wonder what is running through his mind as he studies his soft leather shoes. "Look…I'm sorry."

"You're sorry?"

"Yes."

"What are you sorry for?"

Toby finally looks at me and realizes that I'm having a little fun with him. "I'm sorry for kicking your ass."

"You, my friend, did not kick my ass. I allowed you to get one hit, one hit, and may I just add that I learned to box in the streets. I could take you if I wanted to."

Toby laughs…well, as close to laughing as Toby Ziegler comes. "I wasn't aware they had 'streets' in Connecticut."

"Are you mocking me?" I ask indignantly.

"And what if I was? Are you going to, you know, 'take me'?"

I can't help but laugh at the absurdity of me taking Toby anywhere and I shrug my shoulders. "All right, all right. I never learned to box."

Toby sobers for a moment and grasps my right shoulder. "Seriously Josh, I do apologize. I was out of line, and—"

"Forget it, Toby…I mean it, forget it."

He gazes at me in that penetrating way of his for a moment and then nods his head. "Yeah. Um, yeah, OK."

"Just buy me a beer sometime, and we'll call it even."

"Or I could, you know, get Mrs. Landingham to give you a few boxing lessons."

+++++++++++++++++++++++

It's amazing where your thoughts lead you in times of trouble.

I haven't thought about my grandmother's apartment in that old Boston Tenement in years. We visited her every summer, my sisters and I. I still remember how the smell of freshly brewed tea and brown bread greeted us every time we crossed the threshold. I still remember how brightly scrubbed her kitchen was, how clean the other rooms were despite the shabbiness of the furniture, worn out by ten children.

And I still remember the delicate, framed proverb, hand-stitched by my grandmother's grandmother hanging over the small couch in the living room: 

It's easy to be pleasant when life flows by like a song.  
But the man worth while is the one who can smile  
When everything goes dead wrong.

For the test of the heart is trouble and it always comes with years.  
And the smile that is worth the praises of earth  
Is the smile that shines through the tears.

I would stare at the green letters for hours, lightly tracing them with my fingers, long before I knew what they meant. On the last visit I made to my grandmother, the summer before I went off to my freshman year at Stanford, she placed the frame in my hands and told me to be sure to hang it where I would see it every day. And I had. I kept that damn thing hanging in every apartment I ever rented until I married Jenny.

She'd refused to hang the simple frame in our home together, replacing it instead with a cheap print of Monet's 'Water Lillies' and I hadn't bothered to argue with her. She packed my grandmother's gift along with the other 'tasteless bachelor things', as Jenny called them, that I'd collected over the years.

That box followed us through three moves, and even now sits in the storage garage I rent in Maryland. I haven't bothered to go through it, but I'm considering making the trip just to dig out that piece of my history. I'm going to need it in the next couple of weeks. CJ's going to need it. Hell, we all are.

She's sitting across from me, quietly sipping from her bottle of water as we wait for Josh and Toby to arrive. Jed is making small talk with Sam about pecans, or peaches, or something that starts with a 'p', and I can't stop myself from staring at CJ, covertly of course.

She's always been a bit of an enigma to me, you see. This woman who I almost didn't hire because she'd never worked on a national campaign. It was only Toby's insistence that secured her job; that made me want to give her a chance.

And God, I'm so glad I did. 

I can't imagine life without her now. Can't imagine what it would be like to work one day without her dry wit, the bright smile, or graceful poise. I took her under my wing during the campaign because I missed Mallory, and she missed her father.

She would stay behind some nights while the guys went to the local watering hole and listen to me ramble on about Mal and Jenny. She endured the picture show, the tirades about my only daughter's newest boyfriend, and the unabashed pride when Mal received her Master's degree in education.

She never spoke much about herself really, I think she just enjoyed being in my company. When we were elected, I had to set boundaries. We weren't friends trying to get a good man in office anymore. I was her boss, and I had to put distance between us.

I regret it now. I regret that I'm not as close to her as Josh or Toby. But I realize this comes with the territory. I realize that our relationship can be no different than it is. I do think of her as a daughter, as much as I think of Josh and Sam as sons, but I can never tell them this. I pray they know it anyway.

"Do I have something in my teeth?"

I break out of my reverie to find CJ staring back at me with her head tilted to the side. She's smiling and I realize that I've been caught. I cough in embarrassment and notice that Jed and Sam have turned their attention to the two of us.

"Uh, I was just zoning out there for a minute."

She arches her eyebrow quizzically but before she can respond, Toby and Josh enter the office in the middle of what seems to be a conversation on boxing skills. They both halt abruptly however at the stern look I toss them.

"Glad to see you two could join us." I say gruffly as they sit beside me on the sofa.

Josh flashes me a crooked grin, and Toby ignores me completely as he starts flipping through the notes in his folder and speaks.

"Simon should give the morning briefing tomorrow…Sam and I have a rough draft of the statement already written—"

"I want to give the first briefing. It will look like I'm hiding if I pass this off to Simon." CJ cuts in stubbornly. Yeah, like I didn't see this coming from a mile away.

Toby sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. "CJ, you can't deliver a statement about yourself…it doesn't sound right."

"Why not? I think—"

"Toby's right." Sam says, although he avoids eye contact with her for a moment. "Let Simon handle the first briefing."

The office is quiet for a moment, and it unnerves me. I expect more argument from CJ…but I see she's deep in thought even as she studies one of her well-manicured fingernails. When she looks up again, there is fire in her gaze and I wonder if the others can feel it.

"Fine…Simon can handle the briefing…but I want a chance to get up there. I want to answer questions…I want to speak for myself."

"Absolutely not," I say quietly before anyone else can.

She looks at me in surprise. "Excuse me?"

"I said absolutely not. You're not ready for this."

"Who are you to tell me what I'm ready for? I thought you of all people would understand the need I feel to do this." I wince at the sharpness of her voice, but I don't back down.

"You get up there, CJ, and it gives those vultures a chance to tear you apart. I won't allow it."

Her face softens at my concern, but the resolve is still clear in her large eyes. "You don't think they're going to do it anyway? You don't think they're going to print lies and trash about me if I don't get up there? Get real, Leo."

I know she's right, I know it. But I can't quell the fear that she's getting in over her head, and the father in me just can't stand back and allow her to get hurt in the process. Everyone else in the room seems to have taken a step back…they know this is between CJ and me.

"You don't understand, CJ. They're going to get personal…they're going to ask you questions you may not be prepared to answer."

CJ leans forward and frowns. "I know and I can take care of myself. I supported you Leo, and I'm asking you to support me, now."

I'd have to be a fool not to know what she's referring to. I'll never forget the look on her face when she came into my office to tell me that news of my stay at the drug rehab clinic had just gone public. The concern, the anxiety in her voice had nearly sent me over the edge, but she'd promised to prep me. And I knew everything would be fine.

I knew because she was so good at her job, and I trusted her.

She's asking me to trust her again, and I realize I have no reason not to. I nod my head in defeat and give her a small smile. "Just be careful out there, Kid. I don't want to have to whoop some reporter's ass."

She smiles back at me and I realize for the first time that there are tears in her eyes, and it's one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen because the smile that is worth the praises of earth is the smile that shines through the tears.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

I was never good a solving puzzles.

It wasn't that I didn't have the attention span. Quite the contrary, my concentration is legendary in the Cregg family.

It wasn't that I didn't have a grasp for the concept.

And it wasn't because my brothers would inevitably tear through the room, scattering the pieces across the floor in their boredom.

No, I was never good with puzzles because no matter how hard I tried, I could never get any two pieces to fit together like they should. I used to be convinced that it was a conspiracy, that these puzzle makers had in fact put all the wrong pieces in the box just to drive me crazy.

OK, I'm not that paranoid, but you get the idea.

So, after all these years, I still feel like a ten year old, unable to create the image of the Eiffel Tower on the box. Only now, I'm trying to get the pieces of my cracked life to fit. And I have about six hours to do it.

Sigh.

Why didn't I ever take a creative writing class? Why can't I be poetic, or enlightening, or brilliant? Why is it that I'm stuck with inadequate words, and tedious paragraphs? 

It doesn't seem fair that Toby and Sam can write speeches about the Gross National Product that brings people to their feet, and I can't manage to pour a single ounce of emotion into my own statement. 

I'm already developing a headache from the blinking cursor on the screen of my laptop…well, I have been staring at it for two hours. Why can't I write this simple thing? Why can't I tell them of the fear, of the pain, of the almost blinding whiteness of the clinic operating room?

Because I don't want to appear weak, that's why.

I've worked too damned hard to get where I am today, I've made too many sacrifices. It can't all come down to this, can it? A simple statement, me in front of people I've worked with for two years, trying to explain something that is beyond their understanding. Trying to defend myself about something that can never be rationalized, but must be felt.

"How are you doing?"

I look up and try to smile at Sam, but the energy it requires is too much and I settle for a faint upturn at the corners of my mouth. "I gotta tell you, Sam, I've seen better days."

He takes this as an invitation to come into my office, which of course it is.

"Need any help?" At the look I give him, he shrugs. "Stupid question, I guess. Do you need anything? A coke, a muffin maybe?"

"A muffin?"

"Yeah, you got something against muffins?" he asks defensively.

He looks so cute standing there with his chest puffed out and I can't help but to chuckle. "Oh Sam. Have a seat."

Sam smiles and sinks onto my couch, letting out a satisfied sigh. "You know, CJ…you have the most comfortable couch in the West Wing…I don't get to use it often enough."

"Yeah, and don't get used to it either, Spanky, or I might have to start charging you rent."

"Hey, I offered to bring you a muffin, didn't I?"

"Toby and Josh go home yet?"

"When I left my office, Josh was sleeping at his desk, and Toby was playing with his balls." Sam must be reading my mind because he quickly interjects. "Get it out of the gutter, CJ. I meant his pink, rubber balls."

This sends me off into a peal of laughter, and Sam joins me after a minute or two.

"Jesus! You'd think a body could get some sleep at midnight in the White House." Josh bellows from the hallway, and it isn't long before he makes an appearance in my office. He joins Sam on the couch and tosses us both an irritated look. "What are you two laughing at?"

"Nothing," we both say at the same time, and of course we start laughing again, even as Josh glowers at us.

I sober first and turn back to the computer screen. "Now, you boys are welcome to stay here as long as you like, but I've got work to do, so pipe down and let me get to it."

Josh mock salutes and Sam mutters "Yes ma'am", but they both smile at each other as if I can't see them.

Thirty minutes later I'm still on the same sentence, and I can feel Josh's eyes on me. Sam has long since fallen asleep, and I feel strangely vulnerable, naked in front of this man who has been my friend for almost four years.

He knows more about me than I'd like. He knows that beneath all my bravado and confidence, I'm still a little girl longing for her mother's approval. And if Josh could figure it out, what makes me think that Arthur Leeds won't, or Katie?

Maybe Josh senses my discomfort because he closes his eyes and sinks further into the couch, making a pretense of sleep. I know he's wide-awake fifteen minutes later however, because his breathing is still shallow and regular. God Bless him for trying anyway.

I've gotten through worse, haven't I? 

I'm going to get through this, and I'm going to come out stronger on the other side. And now I sigh because I sound like a frigging Hallmark card. There are worse things I suppose, and before I know it words are flowing from me like a river and I feel strangely light. This is cathartic for me, and although it may not be the most eloquent thing to come out of the West Wing, it just might be the most honest, and that's ok with me.

TBC…

   [1]: http://www.feministsforlife.org/
   [2]: http://www.emilyslist.org/
   [3]: http://www.msu.edu/user/schwenkl/abtrbng/s636.htm
   [4]: http://www.luquette.org/inspire/irish_blessings.htm



	6. Chapter 6

Part VI

Disclaimer: What's the saying? Wish in one hand and shi-oh never mind. It   
goes without saying really that this is an amateur work of fiction, and no   
copyright infringement is intended.  
  
Notes: Whew. This is going to be a doozy. I will be touching on some   
extremely sensitive subjects in this story, specifically, abortion. As this   
is an issue I know most folks feel very strongly about, I am attempting to   
present both sides without leaning one way or the other.  
  
I've done a little research on the 'net and am going to include the   
pertinent links. The Feminists for Life page is   
[http://www.feministsforlife.org/][1], and the Emily's List page is   
[][2]http://www.emilyslist.org/. Also, for more information on the Freedom of   
Access to Clinic Entrances Act, check out   
[][3]http://www.msu.edu/user/schwenkl/abtrbng/s636.htm  
  
Category: CJ/T friendship, CJ/J friendship.eventually romance perhaps. :)  
  
Summary: Series of first person POV, relating to a traumatic instance in   
CJ's life.  
  
Rating: Right now about PG-13.  
  
Feedback: Rocks! Fauquita@hotmail.com  
  
Spoilers: None specifically, but everything is fair game.  
  
Thanks: To my snoogens, Lizisita and Sidalicious…snootchie bootchie!

Part VI

Some days she comes in to the office humming the last song she heard on the radio before parking her car in the garage and smiling at everyone she passes.

Some days she comes in to the office with onion bagels, which she knows are my favorite, and two tall coffees-- Jamaican Mountain Blend thank you very much-- and we stand in front of my desk, chatting about mundane things.

Some days she comes in to the office like a whirlwind, removing her coat, asking for messages, and reading the latest memos stashed in her 'in-box' all at the same time.

Some days she comes in to the office still smarting from the reprimand or briefing faux pas from the previous day, looking for all the world like a child whose favorite pet has just died.

And some days, actually most days now, she comes in to the office two hours before I do, trying to stay ahead of the game.

I have learned to anticipate just how our day (yes our day) will progress by the way she comes in to the office each morning. Donna, Ginger, Bonnie, Margaret, and Cathy all think I am the luckiest of the assistants because I work for CJ. Oh, it's not that they don't respect and admire Josh, Toby, Leo, and Sam, but they somehow think it is easier working for a woman, and not just any woman, mind you.

But they don't know how many times I've stood on the other side of the door while CJ sheds tears she'll never admit to. They don't know that she watches all of her press briefings after everyone has gone home, criticizing herself for saying too much, or not enough. They don't know how lonely she really is.

She and I have our secrets, and this is why we work so well together.

CJ is the only person in the world who knows about Bill. She is the only one who knows about the bruises, the broken wrist, and fractured ribs. She is the only one who knows about the hospital visits and the restraining order. She is the only one who knows about the miscarriage.

We've never talked about that night I called her at 1 a.m. from the emergency room in Norfolk. I remember how scared she sounded on the phone when I told her where I was, and I remember the relief on her face when she saw I was still in one piece; although that relief was quickly replaced with anger when she realized what had happened.

I'd promised her that I would never see him again back in Montgomery, but we got to Norfolk, and he had called, and I'd fallen for his lines again. Everything had been perfect…the dinner, the dancing, the car ride back to his place. But after I refused to leave the campaign…

Well, let's just say he wasn't too happy. I'll never know how I managed to drive myself to the hospital while I was losing a baby, my baby, but I knew there was no one else to call. 

And she came, God bless her. And she never looked at me in disapproval, never asked me why I stayed with a man who gave me more concussions than flowers. She simply held me while I cried, and then later she talked to Bill.

I don't know what she said to him, but whatever it was, it must have put the fear of God in him, because he hasn't bothered me since. She put me on a plane to my mother's house in San Jose and told everyone that she'd given me some personal time. And when I came back three weeks later, I still had a job. 

And I am the only person in the world who knows about Jacob. I am the only one who knows about the songs he wrote for her, the flowers he sent her every day he was away on business, and the elegant ring he bought for her the night he proposed. I am the only one who knows about the car accident and the coma. I am the only one who knows he died three minutes after he was unhooked from the machines.

She blames herself for his death; thinks that if she had said 'yes' instead of 'not now, maybe not ever', he wouldn't have left their apartment so upset; thinks he would have paid more attention to the traffic around him; thinks he would have seen the truck running the red light.

I'd tried telling her the night we raided the mini-bar in her hotel room two weeks after I returned from San Jose that none of it had been her fault. But she'd only smiled in that sad ways of hers and I knew she hadn't believed me. She didn't have to tell me that no one else knew about Jacob…she'd cried so long, and hard, that night and I knew instinctively that it was the first time she had told anyone.

We were so much closer after that night. Maybe it was the vodka, gin and tequila talking, or maybe she felt she owed me a secret after knowing mine. But I like to think that she trusted me above all the others on the campaign, and that was her way of showing it.

All right, Carol, you have gone so far off track that it's a wonder if you remember what point you were trying to make in the first place.

Oh yeah. I'm standing in CJ's doorway, and her head is resting on her folded arms upon the desk. This isn't something out of the ordinary, mind you. I'm used to walking in on CJ asleep at her desk, wearing the same suit as the previous day. But she's always been alone.

Well, not this time. Both Sam and Josh are camped out on her couch, looking entirely too comfortable in my opinion. They're both sleeping soundly, if their snoring is any indication, and I wonder for a moment how in the hell CJ is managing to get any shut-eye through their duet. I swear the pictures on the wall are shaking.

And then I realize that she's not sleeping, that she is fact staring at me now from her position, and she cracks a smile as I motion to the two morons…I mean, men, on the couch. She finally lifts her head and I see the dark circles under her eyes, but she looks peaceful, happy even and I wonder what has changed her mood so drastically.

"What are you doing here so early?" she whispers as she stands up and ushers me out of the office, closing the door quietly behind her.

"I thought that…well, after yesterday I thought you might need me to come in a little early."

CJ grins at me and touches my arm briefly. "Carol, it's four o'clock in the morning."

"Well, I was worried…and I was right because I knew you'd still be here."

Her smile fades and she lowers her head for a moment. "Look Carol, it's going to be busy around here today…and I don't mean regular busy. I mean…Sam-and-a-call-girl busy."

"Is there something going on I should know about?"

She waits a beat before meeting my gaze and nodding her head. "Yes…why don't you and I go see what we can scrounge up in the mess? I'm going to have to wake up the sleeping beauties in a minute, and I don't think I can do so without caffeine of some sort. You and I will talk on the way."

Despite the lightness in her tone, I sense the underlying anxiety and urgency. "Of course," I respond as I let her lead me down the empty corridors of the White House.

+++++++++++

There were times during the campaign when the four of us—Toby, Josh, CJ and I—would break down and rent a car because we were tired of riding across the country in the cramped passenger bus. We didn't do it often, and it wasn't because we couldn't afford it-- which was true believe me-- but it had more to do with the fact that we could never agree on a model. 

CJ always wanted a convertible because she wanted to travel with the sun on her back and the wind in her hair. Josh always wanted a tiny sports car so that he could impress people. I always wanted an SUV, because let's face it, they're so much fun to drive. And Toby…well, Toby always wanted the cheapest car they had…it didn't matter that the radio didn't work and the air conditioner was broken.

So, we would inevitably stand in front of the Enterprise counter haggling over various points. CJ would eventually capitulate and agree to anything that had a c.d. player, Josh would admit that a Mazda Miata wasn't exactly the most ideal car to travel in with three other people, and I could be talked down from the Ford Explorer just to stop Toby from yelling.

I remember vividly the last time we rented a car together. We ended up settling on a four-door Saturn with cigarette burns on the seats. It didn't matter that the right side passenger door didn't open from the inside, or that the dashboard rattled because it was loose. CJ was happy singing along to the Jim Croce c.d. she'd brought along; Toby was happy not having to talk about Governor Bartlet and his flair for inserting lame jokes into his speeches; Josh was happy singing along with CJ to 'Bad, Bad Leroy Brown'; I was happy stretched out in the back because I didn't have to drive. 

It was really late by the time we stopped at an all-night diner in Tucson, and everyone was feeling a little punch-drunk. Toby, CJ, and Josh piled out of the car and I waited for CJ to open the door for me, as she'd been doing for the length of the trip. I thought they were joking at first as they walked away from the car without letting me out, but when CJ hit the control on the key chain, locking the door, I began to panic.

I started banging on the window and yelling at the top of my lungs. Didn't they notice I wasn't yammering on about the monsoons in Tucson this time of year, the highway we should take to get to Phoenix, or how visible the stars were in the Arizona sky? CJ had suddenly turned around and ran back towards the car.

She unlocked the door for me and took me in her arms as soon as I was standing. She apologized profusely while Josh and Toby laughed. She had felt so guilty after that she even allowed me to put my Enya c.d. in for part of the ride. I tried getting her to allow a little John Tesh, but she didn't feel that bad about the incident.

Anyway, I just remember for those few seconds in the car how alone I felt. Like I was missing something. And that's how I feel right about now because I'm all alone in CJ's office. I squint my eyes, because I left my glasses somewhere else, and wince at the same time. I might as well get up and start the day because I know I won't be able to get back to sleep anyway.

I start to sit up just as CJ walks back into the office carrying two steaming mugs of what I hope to God is coffee. She smiles at me, but raises an eyebrow questioningly.

"Where's your partner in crime?"

"I don't know…I just woke up and he was gone."

"Story of my life," CJ jokes as she hands me the white ceramic cup. 

"How long have you been awake?" I ask, although I'm pretty sure I know the answer already.

"I didn't go to sleep."

"Mmmm…don't take this the wrong way or anything CJ, but are you going to go home and change? When Josh or Toby wear the same suit two days in a row, nobody notices, but you…?"

She chuckles slightly as she sits beside me on the couch. "I already sent Carol back to my place to pick up a few things for me."

"Carol's already here? You really ought to look into giving that woman a raise or something."

"Yes, well, the thought had crossed my mind on one or two occasions."

"So…I guess you uh, told her?"

CJ closes her eyes briefly before she looks at me. "Yeah."

"And how did she take it?"

"Let's just say that if everyone out there reacts to it as well as she did, I'm going to be all right. But there's two chances of that…slim and none."

I put my hand on her knee reassuringly because I sense her need for physical contact. She places her hand over mine and leans her head on my shoulder. I catch the faint whiff of something fruity, or maybe it's flowery, and I try to inhale more deeply without making myself conspicuous because, quite frankly, she smells good and I never noticed before.

"Seriously guys, this is the second time in as many days. Is there something going on here that I should know about?"

CJ doesn't even bother to raise her head from my shoulder; she just smiles and beckons Josh to the other side of her with her free hand. He rolls his eyes, but complies with her unspoken demand until her arm is looped through his. Josh sighs contentedly and eyes my cup of coffee enviously.

"What, none for me?"

CJ catches his meaning and nods towards the desk. "I brought you some too, but you weren't here when I got back."

I can see Josh debating whether or not to get up, and he finally settles on staying where he is. Hell, I'm not too inclined to move either, but Josh is shooting me dirty looks over CJ's head. I know he wants some time alone with her, but I'm not sure leaving the two of them in a room by themselves would be the wisest thing. 

But, when have I ever done the wisest thing?

I extricate myself as gently as possible from CJ and apologize. "Sorry guys, I've got some things waiting for me in my office. I might as well get a head start on them before…" I trail off because I was going to say 'before the shit hits the fan', but then I realize that Josh would kick my ass.

CJ is almost asleep on her feet; well she would be if she were standing, but since she's sitting…well, what in the hell is the expression for someone who's sitting? Have they ever come up with one? Whoa Sammy boy…way off track. Anyway, my point is that I don't even think she realizes I'm speaking to her. 

Josh narrows his eyes at me for a moment, and then smiles his gratitude as I close the door gently behind me. The hallways are still empty, so I make my way back to my office without running into a single person. 

The light in Toby's office is still on, and I find him stretched out on his couch with his arm thrown over his head, obscuring his eyes. I want to talk to him, to see if he's all right, but I have the feeling he wouldn't talk to me even if he was awake. And I definitely don't want to end up looking like Josh. I didn't think Toby had it in him quite honestly.

So here I am, standing in my office with a million things awaiting my attention, but the motivation to do none of it. What I really want to do is march back into CJ's office and make sure she's prepared for the vultures…I mean the press. She knows how to handle them of course, has been doing so for almost two years now, but this is going to be harder than lying to them about a rescue mission in Columbia, or dumping a story she wants out there in the Friday trash. No, this is so much more personal, and I wonder for a moment if this will be too much.

++++++

Her shoe size is eleven; she picks the olives out of her martinis because she doesn't like them; owns every single Kevin Smith flick from 'Clerks' to 'Dogma'; refuses to admit that she really can cook.

I know that she can't drink Corona because it reminds her of a booze cruise she took one Spring Break in Mexico. I know that she waxes, not shaves, her legs. I know she calls her father once a week. I know that she visits her eldest brother's grave once a year.

She loves big hoop earrings, but refrains from wearing them because it doesn't fit her professional persona. She has an extensive nail polish collection, but half of the bottles are unopened. She keeps a stash of Tootsie-Pops hidden in one of the cabinets in her kitchen.

Toby loves her caustic wit. Sam loves her maternal coddling. Leo loves her grace under fire. President Bartlet loves her incredible intelligence. And I just love her, for all that she is, and all that she's not.

I reach my hand out tentatively to push her hair away from the smooth contour of her cheek. She smiles at me and squeezes my hand as I pull it away. "Is everything taken care of?" She knows what I'm talking about of course, and so she just nods her head. "Good then…why don't you try and get some sleep?

"When did you become such a mother hen?" she asks as she leans away a little so that she can look me in the eye.

"What, is there only room for one around here?"

"Are you trying to imply that I am a mother hen?"

"Imply…no. I'm flat out telling you."

She pinches me in the side and I jump away from her a little. She throws back her head to laugh, and I am once again struck silent by the elegant lines of her neck and jaw. I reach out to lightly trace her skin, and she pulls back as if she's been burned.

"Joshua, what are you doing?" I detect the note of panic in her voice and the confusion in her eyes.

What in the hell was I thinking? Nothing, that's what. I wasn't thinking anything at all, except how soft her lips look, and for one moment I will never be able to completely forgive myself for, I thought about stealing a kiss. It didn't matter that she doesn't have any feelings of that nature for me, it didn't matter that Bartlet told me to give her space, and it sure as hell didn't matter that she's extremely vulnerable right now.

"I'm…I'm sorry—"

The door to her office opens quietly and Sam enters, looking between the two of us suspiciously. He mumbles something about forgetting his coffee, and looks like he's about to leave, but then thinks better of it.

"Josh, can I talk to you in my office for a minute? I have a thing I need your opinion on."

To anyone else, his tone seems benign, but I know I'm in trouble because he keeps clenching his jaw. He looks at CJ in apology, and she smiles her forgiveness, and I'm sure just a little relief. I get up from the couch, missing the warmth of her body immediately, and follow Sam out into the hallway and then his office.

He is holding his body stiffly and cocks his head to the side once I shut the door behind me. "What in the hell do you think you're doing?"

"You want to be a little clearer with me, buddy? My psychic powers only work in the afternoon."

He stalks toward me, and it takes all I have not to throw my hands up in self-defense. I'm not scared of Sam, but I don't want a black eye to go with my swollen jaw. He stops until his face is only centimeters from mine. His eyes have narrowed into veritable slits, and I immediately go into defensive mode.

"You know damn well what I'm talking about. You were sitting just a little too close to CJ when I walked in…and she looked scared to death of you. Now, I'll ask again, what in the hell do you think you're doing?"

I'll be honest here and admit that I don't think I've ever seen Sam this angry. And why wouldn't he be? I mean, he thinks of CJ as a sister, and I know that if I thought anyone was messing with my sister…well, the end results wouldn't be pretty. 

But Sam knows me. He knows I would never do anything to intentionally hurt her. I know he's only trying to protect her, only trying to look out for her best interests, but damn it, I'm offended and now I'm spoiling for a fight.

"I think CJ already has a father, Sam. Maybe you can find some other hard luck case though."

He pulls back as if I have physically struck him, and I'm immediately sorry for the hurt in his eyes. "I swear to God, Josh, if I didn't think CJ had enough problems without worrying about the rest of us, I'd make you regret that comment."

And he would, of that I am certain.

He stares at me for a moment and then shakes his head. "Stay away from her, Josh. If you can't keep your feelings to yourself…" he trails off and then throws his hands in the air. "Damn it, Josh. What are you trying to do to her? Don't you think she's confused enough? You're supposed to be her friend…don't complicate things."

"I didn't mean…I don't want to hurt her, Sam. I was only…hell, I don't know. She just looked so beautiful and I—oh, forget it."

I turn to leave, but Sam's hand is on my shoulder and I turn to face him. "I know you love her. I know you don't mean any harm…and maybe when this all blows over, you can sit down and talk to her. But now isn't the time…and you know it."

"You think this is all going to blow over?" I ask hopefully.

He pauses for a moment as if truly reflecting. "Yes," a beat and then more convincingly. "Hell yeah."

I can't help but smile at him, and I nod my head in agreement. "Yeah."

++++++

This is it. I mean, this is it.

Carol is looking at me sympathetically from the doorway as I tug my suit coat on. She brought me the blue skirt ensemble because she thinks it makes me look softer, less-threatening. I take one final glance in my compact mirror just to make sure that my mascara hasn't smudged, and my lipstick is still visible. Ok…I guess I'm ready to go.

I swear I expect someone to call out 'Dead Woman Walking' at any point now. Most of the staffers have assembled in the hallway, and although they don't know what the hell is going on, they know something is about to happen. Carol is flanking me on my right side and grips my elbow for just a moment in support. I smile at her gratefully and stop just before I reach the press room door.

Leo, Sam, Toby and Josh are congregated in front of it, trying to look as nonchalant as possible, but failing miserably. Oh sure, every now and then my boys have come to wish me well when they know the briefing is about to get nasty, but they have never come together. Not ever…and I must say that I am particularly touched.

"Knock 'em dead, CJ," Sam says with quiet enthusiasm as he hugs me tightly.

"Are you sure you want to do this, kid? We can call the whole thing off…oh hell, I don't know why I'm wasting my breath. Do good in there," Leo whispers as he puts a hand on my shoulder.

Toby just nods at me, but his eyes speak volumes. Josh smiles crookedly and pulls me to him quickly. The embrace is brief and I can feel how tense he is, and in the back of my mind I know that I have to talk to him about what happened in my office a few hours ago. But I'll worry about that later.

I take a deep breath and straighten my skirt. Josh opens the door for me and I walk to the podium, looking far more confident than I feel. I see the curiosity in Katie's eyes, and the apology in Danny's. Arthur and Steve are conversing quietly until my hands grip the side of the lectern, and then I have their full attention.

"Good morning. A story is going to break into wide circulation by the end of the day, and I'd like to take this opportunity to read a statement. I'll answer a few questions afterwards, and then let Simon get back to business."

I pause a moment as several photographers begin to take pictures, and I glance over at Simon, who nods at me encouragingly. I turn back to the press gaggle and take a deep breath before reading the piece of paper in front of me.

"In October of 1996 while working for Emily's List in San Francisco, I entered a Planned Parenthood clinic, which I will refrain from identifying, and had an abortion performed. I deeply regret the pain and embarrassment this incident has caused my family, friends, and this administration. I would like to take the time to clarify a few things."

I glance out at the sea of faces and recognize the shock etched in their features. Katie lowers her gaze almost in embarrassment and Steve places his pen down almost ceremoniously, as if he refuses to even write about the rest of my statement.

"I was six weeks pregnant, and as such, the doctor opted for a surgical abortion," I wince slightly to myself because the procedure itself was humiliating enough, but now I have to recount it to the rest of the world. "My cervix was dilated to seven millimeters, and the surgeon aspirated the products of conception with a syringe. I stayed in the clinic overnight and was released the next day."

My hands are shaking wildly, and I place them at my side behind the podium so that no one can tell. I take another deep breath and read the last part of my statement. "Neither the President, nor any staff members were aware of this information until yesterday afternoon. I will not be doing any interviews about this subject, so the next ten minutes is all you have to ask your questions. I'll open the floor now."

The room explodes in a flurry of hands and shouts. The questions come at me fast and hard, but I've been trained for this. I've become good at separating the questions from the reporter. But this is too close to home…this wasn't in the job description.

"CJ, as a devout Catholic, how does the President feel about his Press Secretary having had an abortion?"

He doesn't judge people, you self-righteous son of a bitch. No, I can't say that. "The White House does not comment on the personal lives of staff members."

"CJ, what about the father?"

"The father and I were no longer together by the time I found out I was pregnant. I am not giving any details as to his identity."

"Is he a politician?"

"I just said that I wasn't giving out any details on the father, let's move on."

"Has President Bartlet asked for your resignation?"

"How many times do I have to tell you? The White House does not comment on—"

"But you're not speaking as the White House right now, CJ. Has President Bartlet asked for your resignation?"

I refrain from making any number of smart-assed comments because I know it won't help the situation. But I don't bother keeping the sarcasm out of my voice as I answer. "You're not taking me there, Mike. Get over it."

"How did the story become public?"

"Some photos were obtained by a pro-life group. We don't know who the photographer was at this time, and know even less about the motives of the aforementioned group."

"You won't tell us whether or not President Bartlet asked for your resignation, CJ, but can you tell us whether or not you will be taking a leave of absence?"

"At this time, it is too early to tell."

"Did the abortion impede your ability to have other children?"

Well now, that was downright personal. Stay calm, CJ, he just wants to write a sidebar I'm sure. "No, and I don't know why that question is even relevant."

"I only ask because you're forty years old, and childless."

I ought to bitch slap him for that one. "Has it ever occurred to you that perhaps my lack of a steady relationship since entering the White House, and indeed the long hours of this particular job, are the reason for this?"

"Do you want children now?"

Hello! Are you even listening to me? "I'm not answering that."

"CJ, can you tell us why you decided on abortion rather than adoption?"

I knew this question was coming, Simon and I even prepped for it, but my mind is drawing a blank and I can't remember what I was supposed to say. Time seems to have stopped as everyone waits expectantly for me to answer, but there is this pounding in my head and I can't concentrate.

I feel like I'm trapped in some cheesy movie, and I wonder if this is what Leo felt like when they grilled him about his alcoholism and drug addiction. I'm supposed to know how to handle this…it's my job for Pete's sake, but all my knowledge and training seem to have deserted me.

Before I know what's happening, Simon storms onto the stage and ushers me into Josh's waiting arms. I'm not aware of how much time has passed, but from the look on Sam's face, I know I must have been frozen up there for a while.

Josh supports my weight as we head towards my office. He lowers me onto the couch and kneels before me. "CJ, are you all right?"

I don't answer him because my throat has constricted, and I am trying so very hard to reign my emotions in. I can't concentrate on anything else right now, or I'll fall apart. My gaze wanders to the Matrix award I received a few months ago and I can't help remember how proud I was. It didn't matter that no one else remembered I was receiving it, and mattered even less that no one remembered to congratulate me when I returned home. I received the award from a group of my peers, and that makes all the difference in the world.

Josh gently grasps my chin in his hand and turns my face so that our eyes meet. "Tell me how I can help you, Claudia Jean."

And even though it breaks my heart to admit it, I shake my head and whisper, "You can't."

+++++++

TBC….

   [1]: http://www.feministsforlife.org/
   [2]: http://www.emilyslist.org/
   [3]: http://www.msu.edu/user/schwenkl/abtrbng/s636.htm



	7. Chapter VII

VII

Disclaimer: What's the saying? Wish in one hand and shi-oh never mind. It   
goes without saying really that this is an amateur work of fiction, and no   
copyright infringement is intended.  
  
Notes: Whew. This is going to be a doozy. I will be touching on some   
extremely sensitive subjects in this story, specifically, abortion. As this   
is an issue I know most folks feel very strongly about, I am attempting to   
present both sides without leaning one way or the other.  
  
I've done a little research on the 'net and am going to include the   
pertinent links. The Feminists for Life page is   
[http://www.feministsforlife.org/][1], and the Emily's List page is   
[][2]http://www.emilyslist.org/. Also, for more information on the Freedom of   
Access to Clinic Entrances Act, check out   
[][3]http://www.msu.edu/user/schwenkl/abtrbng/s636.htm  
  
Category: CJ/T friendship, CJ/J friendship.eventually romance perhaps. :)  
  
Summary: Series of first person POV, relating to a traumatic instance in   
CJ's life.  
  
Rating: Right now about PG-13.  
  
Feedback: Rocks! Fauquita@hotmail.com  
  
Spoilers: None specifically, but everything is fair game.  
  
Thanks: Liz and Sid, or my own Tammy's. J

P.S. I am sorry if you are a Neil Diamond fan…I really am.

++++++++

VII

I blame Bob Marley for the unholy alliance—Leo's description, not mine—CJ and I formed fifteen years ago. Well, Bob Marley and Neil Diamond.

I was in San Francisco, visiting an old college friend. I had been scouring the city for about two hours looking for his apartment complex, and had just about given up, when I all but stumbled upon it. So already, I was in a, well, foul mood.

I had sprinted—ok, more like trudged—up the stairs when something sharp hit me upside the head. I was dazed for a minute, but when I looked down at my feet, I found the album sleeve for—wait for it now—Neil Diamond's 'September Morn'. God, who buys this drivel?

A few seconds later, I was showered with a generous amount of clothing and then a few more albums…Bread, KC and the Sunshine Band, Donna Summer…someone is in some dire need of musical taste.

And then I heard it. A loud female voice. A loud, off-key female voice singing to the almost blaring strains of 'Three Little Birds'. I continued to climb the stairs, intent on finding the incredibly rude owner of the voice, not bothering to remove the T-shirts and shorts draped across my shoulders.

"Don't worry, about a thing. Cuz every little thing, gonna be all right." OK, I'd had enough of her murdering one of my favorite songs; something had to be done. 

I'd reached the third flight of the rather dilapidated building and stood before the open door of the first apartment on the right. I'd heard some moving inside, but hadn't seen the body attached to the terrible singing. I'm not patient now, and I wasn't patient then, so I did the only logical thing. "What in the hell did Bob Marley ever do to you?" I'd bellowed through the hallway.

An auburn head had poked outside of the door, followed by the most amazing pair of legs I'd ever seen. She had taken one look at me and laughed until she was bent over with the effort.

"I'm glad you find this amusing. Tell me, is this how you greet all visitors in this building?"

"I'm…I'm sorry. Oh God…if you could see yourself," she'd said as she'd wiped a tear away. She'd walked closer and tugged the various apparel, which decorated me like a Christmas Tree, to the ground. "I didn't know anyone was down there," she'd explained more soberly as she'd taken a step back.

"Well, maybe you should check before you start throwing things down the stair case. You could've poked my eye out."

She'd nodded her head, but I could tell she wasn't taking me seriously. She'd then extended her hand and said simply, "CJ Cregg."

"Toby Ziegler. What in the hell possessed you to buy this?" I'd asked as I held up the offending Neil Diamond album.

She'd snorted then, and I knew I liked her. "That is not mine…it belongs to a gutter snipe by the name of James Arrington who will never be shadowing my doorway again if he knows what's good for him."

"Gutter snipe?"

"Yes, a gutter snipe…you have a problem with that?"

"No ma'am," I'd responded as I tried to hide my smile.

She'd appraised me for a moment before suddenly grabbing my arm. "Come on Toby…I owe you a drink."

I hadn't been thirsty, but I couldn't concentrate on anything but her cut-off shorts and simple tank top. I'm a man after all. And back then I was a much younger man.

Her apartment had been like every other college apartment I'd ever seen. Furniture pulled from curbs and dumpsters, posters of Bob Marley (of course), Joan Baez, and David Bowie covering the walls instead of fine art, and a supply of alcohol large enough to open a small bar. She'd gestured to the bottles on top of the hideous green refrigerator and smiled.

"Vodka? Tequila? Gin? No…I think you're a whiskey man." 

I think my smile gave it away because she'd nodded and pulled two cups down from the cupboard. 

We'd talked about many things that night. The best Cat Steven's album—I'd said 'Tea for the Tillerman', and she'd said 'Teaser and the Firecat'--; the social and political ramifications of a female president; Ken Kesey's indictment of mental health institutions in 'One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest'; and why the only good thing to come out of Russia was vodka.

She'd been amazing arguing across the small table from me. She'd been passionate and fiery. She'd been like nothing I'd ever seen, even as she cried over the 'gutter snipe' who'd run off with one of his students. In short, she'd been wonderful and I knew then that my life would never be the same. Even if I did live all the way across the country with a woman I was sure I was going to marry someday. 

It wasn't until all the whiskey was gone that I'd remembered the purpose of my visit. I'd stumbled to the phone and made my excuses to Eli, and then slow danced with CJ into the early morning hours. She'd kissed me goodbye at the door the next afternoon and made me promise to keep in touch.

And I swear to this day, it was the best promise I ever made.

Josh is standing across the hall from her door when I walk out of my office. After he'd escorted her from the briefing room, I'd gone back to work. Well, I'd gone back to staring at the same piece of paper I'd been analyzing for the past three hours, because I knew she needed someone, but I also knew that someone wasn't me.

And I hate that. I've known CJ the longest, but it's clear that she's closer to Josh than she is to me. He knows exactly what to say when she's upset. He knows exactly what drink to order for her when we go out, depending on how the day went. And he always knows what present to buy on her birthday.

I manage to say all the wrong things when she's having a bad day. I have the waitress bring her a whiskey sour when she wants a martini. I spend hours in various boutiques and department stores because I don't know what the hell to buy for one of the best friends I've ever had before settling on a gift certificate to a music store.

It doesn't matter that I know she was confirmed when she was thirteen at the Our Lady Of Victory chapel. It doesn't matter that I know she graduated a year early from Berkeley because she threw herself into her studies after her mother's death. It doesn't matter that I know she has a scar behind her knee from when she fell off her bike when she was eight.

None of these things matter because somewhere in the years of our friendship, I have forgotten how to relate. I have built walls around my heart and she has stopped trying to scale them. We're comfortable in our distance and I don't know who's more afraid of getting hurt. I guess it really doesn't matter in the end.

Josh's eyes are upon me now, and I don't know why he thinks I can help her where he has failed. But he's pleading silently with me and I shake my head. He walks across the hall until we're standing side by side. 

"I don't know what to say to her," he explains almost apologetically as he gestures to the door. "I had Donna make a run to that salad place she loves so much."

"You know she probably won't eat it," I say because I can think of nothing else.

His shoulders sag just a little bit, but he nods in agreement. "I know, I just wanted to feel like I was doing something."

"I want you to listen very carefully to me now, Josh. There is nothing you can do. Nothing. If you remember that, you'll be fine. She's strong, you and I know that better than most, and she'll get through this. And then she'll come back. But you have to accept that there is nothing you can do."

His eyes narrow slightly as he digests my words. He thinks I'm being cold, callous even, I can see it in his stance. But he suddenly relaxes and pinches the bridge of his nose. "I know you're right, Toby. But this is killing me…this helplessness."

I'm surprised at his candor, but maybe I shouldn't be. Josh can be arrogant and insensitive, but he's always expressed his affection, and indeed love, for his friends and family. He has never been ashamed of his emotions. And I admire him more than I can say for that particular trait.

"Yeah, well I've got a thing," I murmur as I walk back towards my office.

He nods his head and goes back to his station across from CJ's door. He reminds me of a puppy waiting expectantly at the door for his owner to return. I only hope he doesn't get hurt in the process of this mess, because I don't think CJ could bear it.

++++++++

She once locked me in a car and made me listen to all eight minutes of 'Free Bird' because I had mocked Lynyrd Skynyrd and called them overrated.

She once made me eat an entire bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken while she watched because I admitted to not remembering the last time I had a meal.

She once made me compile a list of the things I loved about Lisa because she'd heard me arguing on the phone with her again.

She once made me compile a list of things I disliked about Lisa to compare with the list of things I loved about Lisa until I realized that I deserved better.

She once took me out to get drunk after the breakup, and then held a cold washcloth to the back of my neck as I got sick in the toilet.

She once danced with me when Bartlet won the primary, and then again when he was inaugurated. 

Sometimes when I'm feeling dissatisfied with my job, when I think about opportunities I may have missed by joining the campaign, by working long hours, I turn my thoughts to CJ. Because if I hadn't followed Josh to New Hampshire, then I never would have met one of the most amazing women ever to grace the Earth.

I think of the time she physically stood between Toby and me during one of our more heated arguments; an argument that may have come to blows if not for her well-timed intrusion. I think of the time that she allowed Donna to stay in her hotel room even though she didn't know her because Josh said she had no money. I think of the times she stayed up late to finish a task so that the rest of us could get some sleep. 

I also think of the time that she cradled Josh while he cried over his father's death. I think of the time that she held Toby's hand when he announced his divorce was final. I think of the time that she squeezed Leo's arm after his press conference about his drug and alcohol addiction.

"Sam, you got a minute?"

I look up into Josh's worried eyes and nod. "Of course," I smile and then sit up straighter. 

"What were you doing?" he asks as he claims the chair in the corner of my office.

"I was thinking about CJ," I admit honestly.

He smiles at me and then leans forward, "You remember that time she bribed Joe to play 'American Pie' over and over again on the bus because she was pissed at Toby?"

I can't help but laugh at the memory of CJ dancing down the aisle as the rest of us covered our ears. "Yeah…but you know what's even better than that? Do you remember that time in Phoenix when she made the five of us have a sharing circle?"

Josh nods enthusiastically as he adds to the story. "And she kept squirting Leo with the water gun because he was speaking out of turn and yelling at you."

I'm laughing so hard I can hardly breathe. "Wait, wait. What about that time she flew your mother in and had her berate you in front of the entire campaign staff for being mean to Donna?"

"It wasn't that funny, Sam," Josh says, although his smile gives him away. He sobers for a moment and settles back against the chair. "We can't lose her."

"Lose her? I thought she was staying…I mean, she told the President—"

"I don't mean physically, Sam," Josh sighs and closes his eyes briefly. "I looked into her eyes, I mean right after the press conference. And, Sam, I didn't recognize her. I didn't recognize her."

Josh's voice is trembling with emotion, and I hardly know how to react. But I do know that I'm not ready to let CJ go, and I tell him as much. "Josh, we're not going to lose her."

Maybe it's the steel in my voice or the resolve in my eyes but Josh smiles a bit lopsidedly and nods his head, taking a deep breath. "You're right."

"Well, of course. I'm always right and the sooner you accept that—"

"All right, smart guy. I get it. I'm gonna go talk to her."

"You think that's wise?"

"I need to let her know that I'm here for her…that we're all here for her."

I nod because I know he needs to see her, needs to reassure himself, more than CJ. "All right…but don't take it personal if she, you know, closes you off a little bit. She's just protecting herself, you know emotionally."

Josh does something totally unexpected. He throws his head back and begins to laugh. That deep, rolling laugh usually reserved for bars and sports events that I haven't heard in quite some time. "Sam, you really gotta stop watching Oprah. You're just getting…well, weird."

"Oh get out," I smile as I toss a pen at him. He catches it in his hand effortlessly and raises an eyebrow as he closes the door behind him.

++++++++++++

The light from the TV dances eerily across the shiny surfaces in my office. The paperweight, Gail's bowl, the small stapler I stole from Carol's desk, even the half-empty bottle of water reflect the image of Mary Marsh. 

I've tuned out her angry voice, but I know what she's saying. It doesn't take a genus, and even if I hadn't watched the tape three times already, I'd know from her angry face and wild hand gestures. Janet, or whatever her name is, from the Planned Parenthood clinic in DC is fighting a losing battle. And Mark, bless his heart, is trying to appear impartial even as he argues with something the Spawn, I mean Mary, says.

She's demanding my resignation, more eager now than she was with Josh a year and a half ago. She's calling me immoral, incapable, irresponsible. Mary really likes alliteration.

What gives her the right? What gives anyone the right to judge me? These people who purport to be Christian…these people who bomb abortion clinics while calling themselves pro-life…these people who shout unmentionable names at women as they walk through the doors that will change their lives forever.

I don't understand, I just don't understand.

"CJ, can I come in?"

Damn it, I've already sent Josh away three times today. What in the hell does he want from me? Whatever it is, he's bound to be disappointed because I can't play this game anymore. I can't pretend that everything is fine when it literally feels like my heart is constricting in my chest, growing smaller with every punctuated statement Mary makes.

I don't answer, but he opens the door anyway and walks into my office. He eyes me disapprovingly as he crosses the room to turn the television off, ignoring my frustrated sigh.

"How long are you going to keep doing this?" 

"Doing what?"

"Punishing yourself."

"Is that what I'm doing?"

Now it's his turn to sigh in frustration as he perches on the edge of my desk, careful not to get too close to me. "You've watched this, what, five times now?"

"Three," I correct automatically, even though I know it doesn't matter.

Silence dominates the room for a few minutes as he observes the darkened view from the window. There's something he wants to say, but he seems almost afraid to voice it. Finally, he turns his gaze back to me and takes a deep breath.

"I was thinking that maybe you should go home for a few weeks."

I know he's not referring to my modest apartment down the street. He wants me to go back to California. "Is that what Leo and the President think, too?"

He looks at me in surprise and shakes his head. "I haven't talked to Leo or the President. This isn't some scheme we've hatched, CJ. I think that you'd be better off in Napa until things calm down around here."

"And then they get what they want, Josh. Mary Mash and her cronies get to see me leave with my tail between my legs. I'm not doing it."

"Jesus, CJ," he says as he jumps up and begins to pace the room. "This isn't about Mary Marsh, the Christian Right, or even President Bartlet. This is about you...and what you need."

"And how would you know what I need?" I recognize the hurt in his eyes at my sharp tone, but press on anyway. "You think you know me so well, Josh, but the truth is, you have no idea who I am."

He stops suddenly and shoves his hands in his pockets. "You're wrong, Claudia Jean."

"Oh really? What was my major before switching to communications?"

Josh lowers his eyes and shrugs. "English?"

"Zoology. I switched because I didn't like chemistry. Where was I born?"

"San Francisco?"

"Duxbury, Massachusetts. My family moved to California when I was two. What did I want to be when I was a little girl?"

"A teacher?"

"A Broadway singer." 

"What the hell, CJ? So I don't know these things about you…you don't know them about me," Josh says angrily as he places his hands on his hips.

I stand up now as I rapidly shoot out, "Before you switched to Political Science, you majored in engineering, but you were failing calculus. You were actually born in Boston, but your family moved to Connecticut when you were ten. When you were a little boy you wanted to be an astronaut."

He widens his eyes in surprise, but still won't admit defeat. "These things aren't important—"

"You're wrong. The reason these things are important is because I had to ask you these questions at some point in our friendship. I cared enough to ask. You have never asked me about myself, ever."

"You like extra nuts on your sundaes from McDonalds. You are ambidextrous, but usually write with your right hand. Your favorite book is 'A Tree Grows in Brooklyn' and your favorite song is 'Tiny Dancer'. Kevin was the name of your first boyfriend, and you broke up because he was enlisting in the army, and you were going away to Berkeley. You studied the piano for twelve years."

"Shut up, Joshua," I say quietly, overcome with emotion.

"You starred in 'The Sound of Music' in your high school theater. You prefer Coke to Pepsi, and butter over margarine. You wear a size eleven shoe. You cook better than anyone I know, but don't let on. You keep a rosary in the bottom left drawer of your desk."

"Shut up!" I yell as I cross the room until I am standing in front of him. He grips my upper arms and continues.

"You run every morning. You don't eat enough, and sleep even less. You have three jewelry boxes full of necklaces. And, you're beautiful."

His voice breaks, and there are tears in his eyes. I don't think I have ever been as ashamed of myself as I am right now. One lone tear makes its way down his cheek and I reach out a hand to wipe it away.

"I'm sorry, Josh, I'm so sorry."

He shakes his head and pulls me into a tight embrace. His chest rumbles against mine as he speaks. "Don't ever doubt my love for you, Claudia Jean. I know you." I nod my head and he repeats himself again, this time more quietly, but no less convincingly. "I know you."

He holds me for a few more minutes before releasing me. He places his hand on my arm, reluctant to break all physical contact, and squeezes it gently. And then I smile because he called me beautiful.

Mary Marsh may be looking for my head, there may be reporters camped outside my door, and there may be questions about my character, but none of that matters right now because Josh called me beautiful.

"I'm going to take you home now. If you're not going back to Napa for a vacation, then you're going to need your strength to deal with the next few days around here."

I see the surprise in his eyes when I capitulate and grab my coat. He expected me to argue, but right now I'm so tired I feel like I could sleep for a few days. He places his hand on the small of my back as we make our way down the hall under the surreptitious gazes of several co-workers.

Once we're inside his car, I grab his hand and squeeze it affectionately. "Thank you."

"For what?" he asks shyly as he looks everywhere but my eyes.

I duck my head and smile. "For caring."

He squeezes my hand back and replies, "Always."

++++++++

TBC

   [1]: http://www.feministsforlife.org/
   [2]: http://www.emilyslist.org/
   [3]: http://www.msu.edu/user/schwenkl/abtrbng/s636.htm



	8. Chapter VIII

Part VIII

Title: Silence

Disclaimer: What's the saying? Wish in one hand and shi—oh never mind. It goes without saying really that this is an amateur work of fiction, and no copyright infringement is intended.

Notes: Whew…this is going to be a doozy. I will be touching on some extremely sensitive subjects in this story, specifically, abortion. As this is an issue I know most folks feel very strongly about, I am attempting to present both sides without leaning one way or the other. 

I've done a little research on the 'net and am going to include the pertinent links. The Feminists for Life page is [http://www.feministsforlife.org/][1], and the Emily's List page is [][2]http://www.emilyslist.org/. Also, for more information on the Freedom of Access to Clinic Entrances Act, check out http://www.msu.edu/user/schwenkl/abtrbng/s636.htm

Category: CJ/T friendship, CJ/J friendship…eventually romance perhaps. :)

Rating: PG-13/R…a sexual situation and some words.

Feedback: Rocks! Irishbooty79@aol.com

Spoilers: None specifically, but everything is fair game.

Thanks: Lizisita and Sidalicious. "You've been so kind and generous I don't know how you keep on giving. For your kindness, I'm in debt to you.  
For your selflessness, my admiration. For everything you've done, you know I'm bound, I'm bound to thank you for it."

Notes: The poem contained herein is called 'How Did you Die' by Edmund Vance Cooke

+++++

Part VIII

I haven't seen her this shaken up since I watched the tape of her first briefing shortly after Rosslyn. It's funny how we don't call it an assassination attempt, or a lynching gone wrong. We just refer to the entire incident and the weeks following as Rosslyn. It seems almost too simple.

I can still see her face in my mind, her eyes narrowed in confusion as she tried to make sense of Arthur's question. I remember crying for her as she rushed off- stage because there was such a lost quality about her appearance. Her hair and clothes a disheveled mess, her eyes large and frightened, and the small, almost innocuous, scratch on her neck that is barely recognizable unless you are looking for it.

I only watched the tape once because it was too painful to see her so unglued. She had it pulled together by the next briefing, but she looked so vulnerable in the first one, so raw.

I sometimes wonder what was going through her head when she finally remembered the events of that night. I wonder what her heart felt like when she realized that if she hadn't been talking to Sam about our plans to go out that night, she might have been dead. I wonder, but I don't ask because that, like watching the first briefing, is too painful.

Sam told me that she hadn't slept for days afterwards. He would find her sprawled out on the couch in her office, too scared to close her eyes because of what she might wake up to. No amount of coaxing or bargaining on his part could convince her to go home and sleep. It wasn't until three days later when she almost collapsed from exhaustion that she allowed Sam to take her back to her apartment.

I still have nightmares about that night, but I can't imagine they're anything compared to those who actually lived through the days afterwards while I was drugged out of my mind. I can't imagine what it was like for Toby to find me slumped against the wall. I can't imagine what it was like for Sam to do the morning shows while wanting to be at the hospital. I can't imagine what it was like for Leo to live with the knowledge that their fellow Americans had just attacked his best friend and a man he loved like a son. And I can't imagine what it was like for CJ to face the press corps even as her head pounded ferociously and her eyes watered at the very mention of my name. 

I have given up trying to study her covertly, because I doubt she's even aware of my presence at the moment. Her eyes are glued to the group of people camped in front of her apartment building, holding cameras and microphones. I have parked the car in the garage across the street, for once grateful that her building doesn't have allotted spaces. This gives us options.

"Why don't we just go back to my place? We can have Carol drop by here in the morning to pick up some clean clothes for you."

She pulls her gaze away, and looks at me squarely in the eye. "You don't have to come in with me, Josh, but I am not letting those people keep me from my own apartment."

"Of course I'm coming with you, CJ. Whatever you decide to do…but, are you really up to this right now?"

"I haven't done anything wrong, and I'm tired of being ashamed. This is not going to control my life."

Her voice sounds stronger that it has in the past two days and I can't help smiling at the steel in her eyes. God help those reporters. "Let's do it then," I say as I open the door.

"I'm not going to answer any questions. I'm just going to walk past them, into the building, all right?" she tells me over the hood of my car.

I nod my head in approval and the next two minutes pass by in a blur. They spot her before she even crosses the street and start hurling questions at her, their words indistinguishable from the camera flashes and hurried scuffles. Her head is held erect and I admire her resolve in front of these people.

I'm walking behind her, making sure no one follows us into the private building. She stops suddenly and I almost run into her. "What the hell?" I ask as I peer over her shoulder.

The letters are large, angry, and red. She reaches out her hand to trace the 'w' but pulls back when she realizes the paint is still wet. She sighs in frustration and inserts her key in the lock, kicking the door open with more force then necessary.

She doesn't even shed her coat as she heads straight to the kitchen, leaving me standing lost in the living room. She's back about ten seconds later with a sponge and a bucket, and I have to intercept her before she reaches the still-open door.

"Get the hell out of my way, Josh," she grinds out between gritted teeth.

"You shouldn't…you shouldn't have to do this, CJ. I'll take care of it."

"Absolutely not," she says as kneels before the door, pausing long enough to shrug out of her coat.

She begins to scrub furiously at the door and I feel like I'm intruding on something intensely private. Her eyes are angry, and her movements strained, but I know she's gaining strength with every pass of the sponge. She leans back on her haunches and swipes her forearm across her sweat-dotted brow.

I quietly take the dirty water to the kitchen and exchange it. She murmurs her thanks and goes back to work for another ten minutes before she realizes that no amount of scrubbing is going to erase the faint pink letters mocking her. She leans her forehead on the door, and it takes me a few minutes to realize she is quietly sobbing.

"Hey, hey…we'll get some paint tomorrow and take care of everything," I soothe as I take her in my arms and lead her to the couch.

She nods numbly, and I know she is trying to regain control of her emotions again. By the time I've hung up her coat and put away the cleanser, she is visibly calmer. She smiles at me gratefully and stands up.

"Listen, I'm gonna go change. Make yourself at home."

I wait until she has disappeared down the hallway before heading into the kitchen, intent on scrounging up some food. She hasn't eaten all day, and come to think of it, neither have I. I open the refrigerator and sigh in disappointment. 

Two cans of Diet Coke, a jar of mayonnaise, a handful of mild-sauce packets from Taco Bell, and a molded block of cheese. I can't work with this. I open the freezer and am greeted by the sight of three frosty mugs and nothing else. This woman must have some food somewhere. I begin foraging through the kitchen cabinets and come up with a box of tea bags, sugar, and a can of green beans.

"I'm sorry, I haven't had a chance to go grocery shopping this past week," she apologizes as she joins me beside the counter, wearing a pair of worn jeans and an oversized sweatshirt.

"CJ, it looks like you haven't been grocery shopping in months."

"Yeah, that's probably more accurate." At the look I toss her she crosses her arms defensively. "I'm never home, Josh. The milk always spoils and the bread molds. However…" she trails off as she crosses to the small pantry in the corner.

I follow her and smile as she tosses a blue package my way. "You eat Top Ramen noodles?" I ask incredulous because she strikes me as being so much more sophisticated. This is bachelor food.

"I gained a great appreciation for Ramen at school," she admits almost shyly as she pulls a pot from the dish drain. "Plus, noodles don't go bad."

"Well neither do frozen pizzas, but you don't have any of those."

She pats the side of my face and smiles. "That stuff will kill you."

We sit in companionable silence later as we eat our Oriental flavor noodles in the living room. For once she doesn't have CNN on, and I wonder if it is because she is scared she might see herself. Her eyes are resting on the blank TV screen and I can tell she is deep in thought because her lips are scrunched to the side, and she hasn't touched her food in at least ten minutes.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

She looks at me after a moment and sets her bowl on the coffee table. She half turns to me and regards me quietly before looking at her hands. "Do you think I'm a horrible person, Josh?"

I set my bowl beside hers and grab one of her hands in mine. "Are you serious, CJ?"

She raises her eyes, but looks at a point past my shoulder as she shrugs. "It's just…I don't know. I've tried to be a good citizen, a decent human being my entire life. I stole lipstick once when I was thirteen, but besides that, I think I've lived right."

"And?" I prompt when she falls silent.

"But what have I done to deserve this? People are camped outside my apartment building; someone painted the word 'whore' on my door, for Christ's sake. I just…I just don't understand."

"People are assholes, CJ. You've been working in the White House for two years now…I thought you would have come to that conclusion sooner."

"I know…but, God, it makes me so angry. These people have no right, no right, to judge me."

"No, they don't. But they don't know you, CJ. They don't know how intelligent, how loving, how special you are. But your family and friends, we know, and that's all that matters."

She murmurs something inaudible and I take her face in both my hands. "Do you believe me, CJ?"

"Yes," she whispers as her eyes move to my lips.

And then before I can even contemplate what's happening, she moves closer until her I can feel her breath on my face. "CJ, what--," but she cuts me off as she presses her lips to mine.

My thought processes are shot to hell as she wraps her arms around my neck and pulls herself against my body. Her lips are soft, and incredibly insistent, and I find myself responding to her advances. However, I snap back to reality as her tongue slips past my teeth and she moans softly into my mouth.

"CJ, we can't do this," I whisper as I pull back, resting my hands on her forearms. "You're not thinking straight, you're confused."

She shakes her head and meets my gaze. "I'm not confused, Josh. I know what I want." And with that, she leans forward again and captures my lips in a searing kiss.

I grab both her arms in my hands and pull them down between us. "You don't…you don't understand how badly I want this, CJ. But not here, not now."

She pulls back suddenly and turns hurt eyes upon me. Her face flushes in embarrassment as she gets to her feet. "Oh God. I'm sorry…I thought, I mean…the way you touched me in the office, I just thought. Oh God, just forget I did that, ok?"

"You don't understand, CJ. I want—"

"Can you please leave now? I think I've embarrassed myself enough for one night…enough for an entire damn lifetime."

"CJ—"

"Please, just…go."

She sweeps past me down the hallway and I hear a door slam. I want to explain things to her, but I know the time isn't right. Instead, I carry the bowls to the kitchen and rinse them out before stacking them in the sink.

"CJ, I'm gonna go now, but I'll be back in the morning to pick you up," I say to the closed bedroom door.

"I'll take a cab," comes her muffled response.

"Don't be ridiculous. I'll be here at six."

"I told you, I'm taking a cab."

I know better than to argue with her when she uses that particular tone. And I also know how to choose my battles, so I tap the door gently and sigh. "Fine, I'll see you tomorrow."

She doesn't respond, but then, I don't really expect her to. 

On the car ride home I can't help remembering the feel of her body nestled against mine, and the passion with which she kissed me. Being with CJ, like that, was so much better than I had ever imagined it to be, and I only hope I'm able to get a second chance.

+++++++

When I was twelve years old, my mother entered me into one of those local beauty pageants. I don't remember if it was the Strawberry or Harvest Festival, but my mother thought it would be a good idea to parade me in front of the whole town with an expensive dress, and big hair. I think the only reason she did so was because all of her friends were entering their daughters.

I was already 5'10 that summer and I felt so conspicuous standing beside my much-shorter peers. I wanted to make my mother proud, so I practiced my talent—singing 'Hey There' by Rosemary Clooney—everyday for two hours. I worked on my posture, on my walk. I endured the teasing of my brothers as I walked around with curlers in my head the entire day before because I wanted more body.

I wouldn't say I was confident, but I wasn't deathly afraid of being on stage. I wouldn't say I felt beautiful, but I didn't feel hideous. I wouldn't say I thought I was going to win, but I didn't think I was going to lose.

I killed in the talent section, and did even better in the interview. I waltzed on stage for the final round, feeling a bit relieved that it was almost over and I could get out of the shoes that pinched my feet painfully. And then it happened.

Amber Page stepped on the back of my dress as I continued to walk forward. My strapless dress, which was held up by little more than a prayer. I heard the rip before I felt the warm rush of air hit my skin and it took me several seconds to realize that the dress was making its way south.

I clutched the bodice in my hand and rushed from the stage, very much aware of the gentle ripple of laughter from the crowd. I ran all the way home and locked myself in my room for two days. People still refer to that incident when I visit my father.

Yeah, up to this point, it was probably the single, most embarrassing event in my life. But now, even that has been eclipsed by my failed attempt to seduce Josh. My cheeks flare up again as I make my way into the building.

He was so gentle with me, but the rejection hurt just the same. I don't know what I was thinking. But he was there and had seen me at my worst. And his eyes were so soft, his lips slightly parted. And he had called me beautiful, had touched me almost reverently in my office hours earlier.

Of course he doesn't want me. He's in love with his assistant; everyone knows that. But, God help me, I didn't care. At that moment Tad Whitney could have been sitting on my couch and I would have kissed him. Only Tad Whitney would have kissed me back, would have carried me to the bedroom.

And for one night I would have felt whole again. Sex doesn't solve anything, but it sure makes you forget for a while. And that's exactly what I need right now, to forget.

Carol jumps out at me right before I reach my office and gestures to the door. "He says he won't leave until he talks to you. I tried to—"

"Don't worry, Carol," I say as I open the door, thinking Josh is waiting for me on the other side. I almost drop my briefcase as my visitor stands up from his seat on the couch and tugs at his suit jacket unconsciously. 

"Good morning, CJ," he begins in a neutral tone.

"Senator Shallick," I return as I close the door and cross to my desk so that I'll have something to lean against. I lower my voice and meet his gaze. "What in the hell are you doing here, Henry?"

"I saw your press conference…it's in every newspaper from here to San Francisco. Did you think I wouldn't come?" He takes a deep breath and runs a hand through his thinning hair. "Why didn't you tell me?"

He's changed so much in the past five years that I hardly recognize him. His face is more lined, and his waist thicker than I remember. There's a hardness in his eyes, and steel in his posture. Ambition has destroyed everything in him I ever loved.

He used to bring me breakfast in bed, and buy volumes of poetry to read to me in the bubble bath. He was a terrible cook, but he never stopped trying. I think those five months I was with him were the happiest of my life. 

I've tried very hard to forget how gentle his kisses were as we debate on 'Capitol Beat'. I've tried very hard to forget how soft his voice was in the morning as he hurls insults at the Bartlet Administration from a podium on the steps of the Capitol. And I've tried very hard to forget how much I loved him as he stands across a crowded room staring at me in loss and regret. And I've succeeded for the most part.

"I didn't owe you anything, I don't owe you anything now."

"I would have taken care of you, I would have made sure you had everything you needed," he continues as if I hadn't spoken. "I know I hurt you, but we could have worked something out."

"You had a wife, and three children, Henry. What could we have worked out? I know; you could have hidden me somewhere obscure and made visits whenever you were feeling frisky. You could have sent me checks every month so you wouldn't feel guilty, and might have even kept a picture or two hidden somewhere of your bastard child."

"That's not fair, CJ."

"Was it fair that I had to find out from a newspaper that you were married? Was it fair that you told me you loved me even though you weren't free to do so? Screw fairness, Henry."

"I did love you," he whispers quietly as he shifts on his feet. "Does anyone else know?"

"You have nothing to worry about. There is nothing to connect you to this…unless of course you keep visiting my office at dawn."

He's quiet for a moment and when he looks up, there is sadness in his eyes. "For what it's worth, I never meant to hurt you."

"Well, I'm sorry to say, but that isn't worth a damn thing to me. Now, I'm sure you have other, more pressing concerns to attend to."

He looks at me and then nods his head. "Take care of yourself," he whispers as he opens the door and walks past a very confused Carol.

She waits until he is out of sight before coming into my office and cocking her head to the side. "So, was that him?"

"Him, who?"

"Mr. Wonderful, who in fact turned out to be married?"

"You're far too perceptive for your own good, Carol," I say as I sit behind my desk and lean back in the chair.

"He's a Republican, CJ," she replies in horror.

I chuckle a little bit and sigh. "Oh, Carol. When I met him, he wasn't a senator yet."

"Yeah, but he was still a Republican, wasn't he? How did you meet him?"

"One of the local high schools in San Francisco was holding a debate between one of our guys, and one of his. I didn't realize who he was until after he asked me to dinner, but the way he looked at me…I tell you, Carol, no one had ever looked at me like that before…and to be quite honest, no one else has since." 

"Like what?"

"Like getting me to dinner was the most important thing in his life. He always made me feel like I came first, always. It does wonders for the ego. Even if he did turn out to be scum, when we were together he all but worshipped me."

"How did you find out…I mean, that he was married?"

"I was in bed on a Sunday morning reading the paper, and he was featured in an article about congressional hopefuls. There was a picture…it must have been taken on one of their family vacations, I don't know. But his children were beautiful, Carol. I loved him…and I hate myself for admitting it, but I might have stayed with him if it weren't for those children. I couldn't do that to them."

"What did he say when you confronted him?"

"He tried to deny it, if you can believe that. But I threw the article in his face. And then he broke out into the whole 'I'm only in the marriage because of the kids' routine."

"And what did you say to that?"

"I told him he could go to hell."

Carol smiles and nods her head. "Has he ever said anything…I mean, since you've been in Washington?"

"No. Well, we've seen each other on the political circuit, but nothing personal."

"Is it hard…seeing him?"

I don't even have to think about my answer. "I closed that chapter of my life a long time ago. As far as I'm concerned he's just another pain in the ass from the opposite party."

She looks at me thoughtfully for a moment and then smiles. "Well, I've got to finish typing up those releases."

"Thanks, Carol," I say as I turn my attention to the pile of mail sitting on my desk. 

The building won't start filling up for at least another two hours, and I bask in the peace and calm. I've started coming in earlier than need be for the past few months because it's easier to face the day once I've had at least an hour of quiet in my office.

Invitations for speaking engagements and fundraisers comprise most of my mail, and I sigh in relief as I get to the final envelope. I unfold the letter and can't bring myself to look away from the large cutout letters even as I gasp in horror.

Carol rushes in and looks over my shoulder. "Damn, I thought we'd gotten all of it," she whispers as she tries to take the letter from my hand.

Her words snap me out of my shock and I look up at her angrily. "There's more?"

"Things started coming in late yesterday by express mail," she says almost guiltily as she looks into my eyes. "CJ, you shouldn't have to sort through this."

"Yes, I should. I want to see everything. Bring it to me."

"I don't think that's—"

"Now," I interrupt.

She flinches at the volume of my voice and walks immediately out of my office, returning about five minutes later with a stack of letters. She hands them over wordlessly and closes the door behind her.

When Toby stops by my office an hour later, I've read through every letter, some twice, and am quietly reflecting about what my next move should be. I've been ripped to shreds, every ounce of confidence I've ever had stripped from me. Whore, murderer, bitch, and many other things I don't even want think about sit before me. Some written in neat cursive. Others slashed angrily on a page. And still others typed, or pasted. 

"Carol shouldn't have given those to you," he says quietly as he sits on my couch.

"No…I needed to see them…I needed to know."

"Needed to know what, CJ? You needed to know what these close-minded people think of you?"

"I don't know…I just, I don't know," I whisper as I study my hands. "Toby, will you take me to the airport?"

He regards me intently for a moment and then shrugs his shoulders. "It depends."

"Depends on what?"

"Are you coming back?"

I can't quite meet his eyes when I respond. "I don't know."

"Fair enough," he says as he stands up and gestures to the door.

Two hours later as he's sitting beside me at the gate, I feel the need to make a confession. He hasn't asked any questions since we left the West Wing. He hasn't asked why I didn't want to wait until Josh or Sam got to the office before leaving. He hasn't asked why I was so dead-set against talking to the President. He hasn't asked why my hands are shaking uncontrollably. He already knows the answer to most of these things, but I feel the need to explain anyway.

"I did something really stupid last night."

He looks sideways at me and smiles. "You didn't beat any reporters up, did you?"

"No," I chuckle. "Something much, much worse."

"You went out and bought a Spice Girl's c.d.?"

"I'm trying to be serious here, Toby. And I happen to like the Spice Girls."

He holds his hands up and says, "All right, Amazon Spice. Tell me the incredibly stupid thing you did last night."

"I kissed Josh."

The half smile fades abruptly and he lowers his hands. "I see."

"I don't know what I was thinking. I was just so…God, I don't know. I just needed to feel desired I guess." I flush in embarrassment because I can't believe I'm talking to Toby about desire in an airport.

He doesn't seem at all put off by the conversation however because he holds my gaze. "So, why was it stupid?"

"So, were you listening to anything I said, or what? I kissed Josh, Josh Lyman, our Josh."

"I know very well which Josh we're talking about, but thanks for clearing that up," he says sarcastically. "I'm asking why you think it was stupid. Is it that you don't have feelings for him?"

"My feelings for him are not the problem, here. I mean, I don't know exactly what it is I feel for him, but I know that I care for him more than a friend." I cover my face with my hands because Toby isn't exactly the person I had in mind for this conversation.

"Then what is the problem?" he asks as he pulls my arms down.

"You idiot, he doesn't have feelings for me!" I exclaim as I pull back. "And before you start lecturing me about Donna, I know that he loves her. I just wasn't thinking last night about all the romantic intrigue going on in the office, all right. So that, my friend, is what I mean by being stupid."

Toby does the thing I least expect; he throws his head back and laughs. Toby laughs. I gotta admit that I'm a little hurt. He sobers immediately as he notices my fallen expression. "CJ, what on Earth makes you think that Josh doesn't have feelings for you?"

"Are you kidding me? I was offering myself, there on a platter, Toby, and he didn't take it. He didn't take it," I trail off and sigh. "I know you're thinking that rejection should be the least of my problems right now, and you're right, but I made a complete fool of myself, and I have absolutely no idea how I am ever going to be able to look that man in the face again."

Before Toby can respond, my flight is called over the loud speaker and I stand up. "That's me."

He nods his head and awkwardly hands me my carry-on. "You have a safe trip, and take care of yourself," he says as he backs away.

Now I know Toby isn't the demonstrative type, but I was hoping for a hug, a squeeze on the arm at the least. He looks ready to bolt. Same old Toby I guess. I smile at him and nod my head.

"You take care of yourself too. I'll—" I pause because I was going to say 'I'll see you soon', but I honestly don't know that I will. So I settle for, "Be in touch."

I turn around and start walking towards the ramp. I'm almost there when I feel a hand on my shoulder. Toby spins me around and pulls me into his arms. "You're a fool, CJ." He presses a gentle kiss to my forehead as he pushes me away gently. "If you need anything…please call me."

"I will."

I look back when I'm halfway down the ramp and he's still standing there. I wave to him and he smiles back broadly for a moment before settling back into his regular scowl. I roll my eyes and board the plane, feeling a little lighter than I did a few hours ago.

I'm going home. I'm going to see my father, and I'm going to deal with this. The rest of the world be damned.

+++++++

__

Did you tackle the trouble that came your way

With a resolute heart and cheerful?

Or hide your face from the light of day

With a craven soul and fearful?

Oh, a trouble's a ton, or a trouble's an ounce,

Or a trouble is what you make it.

And it isn't the fact that you didn't hurt that counts,

But only how did you take it?

I've only met CJ's father once, and very briefly. We were at a campaign stop in Modesto, and he had driven down to spend the day with his daughter. I remember how tall he was, and fit looking for a man approaching seventy. His voice was rich and low, much like CJ's and I had been struck at the resemblance between the two.

I've only met CJ's father once, but I have talked to him every day since she's been gone. She doesn't return my calls, and refuses to speak to me when she's there. But Paul always has a kind word, and we've struck up a friendship of sorts. Well, as well as any two people can over the phone.

He tells me embarrassing stories from her childhood, and I tell him things he should be proud of because I know CJ never will. He talks about her activities, and I talk about her absence. He laughs over coffee, and I cry over my beer sometimes.

And then just like that, he tells me to come and visit. He won't listen to my excuses, and mutters something about stubborn females, and foolish men. He tells me that CJ misses me even though she won't admit it, but that she probably misses D.C. even more. He tells me that she's started smiling again, and I book my flight.

__

You are beaten to earth? Well, well, what's that?

Come up with a smiling face.

It's nothing against you to fall down flat,

But to lie there—that's disgrace.

The harder you're thrown, why the higher you bounce;

Be proud of your blackened eye!

It isn't the fact that you're licked that counts,

It's how did you fight and why?

The cab pulls up to the modest two-story house and I fight my nerves as I tip the driver and walk the short distance to the door. Paul meets me on the porch before I have a chance to knock and shakes my hand firmly as he pats my back.

"Claudia Jean is out with the dog," he explains as he leads me further into his home and ultimately the kitchen. I set my bag down beside the table and smile.

"Does she know I'm coming?"

"No, no…I thought it would be best to surprise her."

"That way she can't run off before I get here," I add sarcastically as I accept the glass of iced-tea he sets before me. "How has she been?"

Paul smiles brightly as he sits across from me. "She's found peace here, Josh. She's getting restless, but I think she needed this time. She needed time to cry, to mourn, and to heal. And I think she's come to terms with it all." He pauses and then leans forward, "How are things in Washington?"

I know he's not talking about the latest bill we're trying to get through, or the new Appropriations Committee Chair. He's not talking about the weather, or the Rose Garden. I shrug. "It's a non-story now, Paul. It lasted all of one week before Congressman Phillip's scandals took center-stage. Mostly now, the press corps just wants CJ back so they don't have to listen to Simon drone on. They miss her…we all do."

"Fantastic…now all you have to do—" he cuts off as a peal of laughter erupts behind us. He half turns in his chair as someone races up the steps and opens the screen door.

__

And though you be done to death, what then?

If you battled the best you could;

If you played your part in the world of men,

Why, the critic will call it good..

Death comes with a crawl, or comes with a pounce,

And whether he's slow or spry,

It isn't the fact that you're dead that counts,

But only, how did you die?

She looks amazing. She's wearing a pair of khaki shorts, and a simple white tank top, but quite honestly, I don't think she's ever looked as beautiful. Her arms and legs are bronzed from the California sun, and her face is set in tranquil lines. Even her posture is relaxed as she holds the door open for the dog that comes bounding into the kitchen.

"Hey, Dad, I was thinking that—" she trails off as she realizes who is sitting at the table with her father. "What are you doing here?" she asks harshly.

"Don't be rude, Claudia Jean," he father admonishes as he stands up. "I have to make a run to the store, so sit and visit with our guest for a while and I'll be back later."

"Dad, tell me what you need, and I'll run to the store. I haven't had a chance to get the oil changed yet, and I don't want you stranded somewhere," CJ says as she walks into the kitchen and leans against the sink.

Paul sighs with the air of having had the argument before. "I don't need you to run errands for me. I am perfectly capable of operating my own car, a car I've had for almost twenty years by the way, and—"

"All right, all right. Don't give yourself a heart attack," she says as she crosses the kitchen and places a kiss on his weathered cheek. "Just please take my cell phone."

He capitulates and silently takes the small phone in his hand as he grabs a set of keys from a hanging hook with the other. He shoots me an encouraging look before he disappears down the hallway, and CJ begins wringing her hands nervously, as she looks anywhere but at me. The dog, Rufus, if I remember correctly, has his head in my lap and is looking at me with the most incredibly sad eyes until I begin to scratch the back of his ears.

"So how are things?" I ask when it becomes clear CJ isn't going to speak.

She smiles briefly as she looks down at the dog. "My father is driving me crazy…or maybe it's the other way around, or maybe it's a little bit of both."

"Does that mean you're ready to come back?" I ask, hoping my voice isn't as desperate as my heart.

"Don't, just don't, Josh," she says wearily as she pinches the bridge of her nose.

"Don't what?"

"You can't just come here, unannounced, and then start asking questions."

"My visit wouldn't have been unannounced if you would have accepted any of my phone calls," I reply angrily as I stand up.

"Doesn't that tell you something, Josh? I wouldn't even take your calls, so what the hell makes you think I wanted you to come here?" Her eyes soften and she runs her hand through her hair. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that…it's just…I'm a little embarrassed."

"About that night in your apartment?" I ask, even though I already know the answer.

She lowers her head so that her hair obscures her face. "I really am sorry, Josh. I…I didn't mean to put you in such an awkward position."

"Don't apologize, CJ. Don't apologize unless you didn't mean it." She looks up at me, and her blue eyes widen as I walk closer.

"What are you talking about, Josh?"

I take her hand in mine, and gently entwine our fingers together. "I have wanted you from the moment you walked into campaign headquarters, CJ."

"You have?" her voice is small, almost strangled and I smile as I tuck an errant strand of hair behind her ear.

"You have no idea how hard it was for me to walk away that night, to refuse everything you were offering. I just didn't want to take advantage of you."

"Why didn't you ever say anything?"

"Because there was never a good time. I was involved with Mandy. We were trying to get a man elected President. Toby was always glowering at me."

"You were scared of Toby?"

"I still am," I admit as I smile. "And then when we started working…I just didn't think, I mean, I didn't think you'd give me the time of day."

She laughs and smoothes down the collar of my shirt. "And now?"

"You tell me," I whisper.

She sighs and pulls back, but I don't release her hand. "I don't know what you want from me, Josh."

"I just want you to let me love you."

She wrestles her hand away from mine and walks to the sink, turning her back on me. "I come with a lot of baggage," she says quietly, and her voice is thick with emotion.

"I don't care about that, CJ. I just…I just want to share some part of your life," I reply as I place my hand cautiously on her back. 

"I leave the cap off my toothpaste sometimes," she says suddenly as she turns to face me.

"What?" I ask in confusion.

"I also leave dirty dishes in the sink. I sleep with the TV on. I am, in fact, a pack rat. And I snore."

"What in the hell are you talking about, woman?"

"I just wanted to let you know what you'd be dealing with, if you ever, you know, spent the night."

My eyes widen and I place my hands on my hips. "Are you saying what I think you're saying? Because I just want to be clear before—"

She grabs a fistful of shirt and tugs me forward, silencing me with a tender kiss. I move my hands from my hips to hers, and pull her even closer. "You talk too much, Josh," she says against my lips. "This isn't going to be easy…you know that, right? I mean, the hours we work are going to be hell on this relationship, not to mention the media. I don't know what Leo, or the President is going to—"

"You talk too much, CJ," I interrupt before covering her lips with my own.

+++++

Life is good.

Sometimes I tend to forget the simple things in my mad rush to save the world. My father used to tell me to slow down, to enjoy life because it would be over soon enough. I never listened to him because I was always in a hurry to get somewhere. It didn't matter that I didn't know my destination. All that mattered was I got to it first, wherever it ended up being.

Josh shifts beside me on the couch and I smile. Life is very good.

The sun is beginning to peek up over the horizon and I sigh because Josh just fell asleep an hour ago, and he'll have to leave for the airport in three more. He was only able to get the weekend, and even that required some serious string pulling. 

I cradle the delicate frame he presented me with last night in my lap and slide a finger down the smooth glass. He said the poem reminded him of my grace, of my dignity. And he wanted me to have it so that every time I felt discouraged, I could look at it and take heart. It's not a sonnet by Shakespeare, and I wouldn't classify it as romantic, but it's special to me just the same. 

"I thought you were going to try to get some sleep," Josh mutters groggily from the other end of the couch.

I smile and stretch out beside him, nestling comfortably against his side, the frame lying forgotten on the floor. He kisses my forehead distractedly and closes his eyes as I tighten my arm across his chest. The couch is not very big, and not terribly comfortable, but there's no place I'd rather be at the moment.

I've come to the realization that we pay for the sins of our parents. My mother never loved me, at least not in the way a mother should love her child. My father did his best to protect me, but he couldn't change her, couldn't touch that hate in her heart. And I suffered.

I suffered quietly for so many years, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from screaming at the injustice of it all. I visited her grave for the first time in years yesterday with Josh. He held me while I cried, and never tried to make excuses for her. Never told me that she loved me in her own special way. Never told me that I'd feel better if I forgave her.

He just kissed me, and told me he loved me. And that was enough.

+++++

The End…

   [1]: http://www.feministsforlife.org/
   [2]: http://www.emilyslist.org/



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